


Our Most Quiet Scars

by foldingcranes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Fake/Pretend Relationship, From Sex to Love, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hunter Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Fanaticism, Stanford Era (Supernatural), Strangers to Lovers, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26971795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foldingcranes/pseuds/foldingcranes
Summary: Left behind by his family, Dean does the only thing he knows how to do: hunting. It's a lonelier life than he wants to admit, and when he runs across the same leather-jacketed, devastatingly handsome hunter who keeps stealing his kills, Dean suggests they team up to watch each other's backs and get more done. But working with Cas Novak comes with its own risks that may outweigh the rewards… especially when Cas’ past catches up to them.
Relationships: Anael/Ruby (Supernatural: Devil's Bargain), Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 59
Kudos: 391
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my AMAZINGLY TALENTED artist, Mel, for drawing such beautiful pieces for my fic. You can check out their official master post [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970820) to see their works in original quality!
> 
> This is the longest fic I've written, wow. Anyway! This fic wouldn't have been written without [stuffy_j](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffy_j/pseuds/stuffy_j)'s EXCELLENT cheering skills, encouragement, menacing threats, beta reading, and magical friendship powers. Her own DCBB fic is coming up soon!!!

Freshly dumped and going through one of the most dramatic breakups Dean's had the displeasure of experiencing, he finds himself sitting at the chipped, dingy counter of a Southern California dive bar.

“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” the bartender points out, somewhat obviously, and Dean just offers up his empty glass of whiskey silently. It’s been two months since he and Lee stumbled upon the horrific thing that finally killed all of Lee’s hopes of ever contemplating a permanent career in the hunting lifestyle and forced him to gracelessly ditch Dean.

("We aren't Bonnie and Clyde or whatever you think we are, Dean," Lee shouts, looking like he is at the end of his rope, wild and frantic and ready to break. "That's not our life, that's never going to be our life. We're just two miserable bastards stuck on the least rewarding road trip we'll ever make, and I'm so sick of this shit, Dean. I'm sick of monsters, and I'm sick of playing hero. I’m out.”)

It's not like Dean was in love, _love_. But it’s been a year since the last time he saw Sam, and months since the last time they actually talked. The little asshole doesn’t even bother picking up his phone anymore and he’s tired of listening to Sam’s voicemail. Knowing Dean’s chances, his brother is still angry about the sad, drunk message Dean left on his birthday after he offered to visit Sam at Stanford and the kid gave him a solid _no_ for an answer. It didn’t help that John wasn’t picking up the phone either, or that he decided to end their hunting partnership via text message just weeks after Sam left for college.

Dean is starting to hate phones a lot.

After getting ditched like a bad prom date by his dad, Dean tried to take up his usual hunts, but chasing after werewolves on his own and risking his ass every time lost its appeal really quickly. Dean had to settle for the smaller hunts, the ones that didn’t require backup if he wanted to remain in one piece.

Which was how he ended up crossing paths with Lee.

Almost seven years older than Dean, and way too fucking charming, Lee helped Dean remember the things he loved the most about the open road and the simplicity of just… leading a life as simple as ganking monsters and helping people. Dean liked the person he was when he was with Lee: someone _fun_. Someone who drank while being cheered by strangers, sang karaoke, and stumbled back into a motel room in the middle of making out. It was a fantasy.

A weird, kind of fucked up fantasy where they did normal shit during the day and hunted monsters at night, but it was all Dean could have ever asked for after his own family was so quick to dump him.

And then… Arizona happened, and now Dean is back to solo hunting and trying really hard not to lose a limb while wrestling to stab a werewolf or fall down the stairs while getting chased by a shapeshifter. At one point, he even considers calling Bobby, but it’s been years since the last time they talked, and Dean doesn’t know if he has any right to call him just to ask for help. Things would be easier if he could just put up a post on Craigslist: “WANTED: HUNTING PARTNER. NO, NOT THAT SORT OF HUNTING.”

Jesus. John would have his head if he tried something like that.

Dean guesses he could look around for one of those bars geared towards hunters that his dad mostly avoided since he kept pissing everyone off. Ask around in some sort of… smartly coded message. He’s so busy trying to come up with something clever, that he almost misses it when a guy sits right next to him at the bar, asking the bartender for a stout.

“Who even drinks stout,” Dean snorts and shuts up right after seeing the stranger. His eyes are bright blue, and he has the most beautiful lips Dean’s ever seen on a guy. The line of his jaw is strong and elegant, covered in a layer of stubble that already borders a proper beard, and his hair, black and messy, makes him look like he just got out of bed.

Dean is so busy ogling him, that he doesn’t even notice when the guy finishes his nasty bitter beer.

"What's wrong with stout?"

Dean's brain functions are still on blue screen mode, and he blurts out the first thing on his tongue. "It tastes like shit, man."

One of the dude's perfect eyebrows lifts up sardonically. "Eloquent. Your argument needs some work."

"Just stating my opinion, man," Dean stutters out, trying desperately to get a hold of himself. Just because the guy is hot doesn't mean Dean can't have a fucking conversation with him. Get your shit together, Winchester.

The man takes another sip of his dark beer. "Well, my opinion is that stout is good. The stuff they've got here is hard to find anywhere else, too."

At that, Dean tries to give him a winning smile. "Yeah? You come here often, then?"

The hot stranger huffs. "Aren't you funny."

“The funniest,” Dean says, plastering on his best-winning smile. “Extremely charming. I come highly recommended for every party.”

“Not this one, I’m afraid. Sorry,” he says, with a shrug, turning away from Dean, who sags with disappointment. “I’m here on a job.”

“Yeah, well. Same here. Just passing through. What do you do?” Dean gives it another try. This time, the stranger does smile a little. “I’m Dean Winchester.”

“Cas Novak. I sell insurance,” he says, and that’s all he really offers, but Dean is already interested. It’s been a while since he’s been instantly attracted to someone, and Cas is the most beautiful man Dean’s seen since… ever.

“Y’know, Cas… all work and no play makes you a dull boy,” Dean says, quickly cringing to himself. He’s never been good at flirting with men, there’s something about them that constantly throws Dean off his game.

Instead of mocking his terrible attempts at flirting, Cas blinks. “Did you just call me dull?”

“It’s a reference,” Dean mumbles.

“A reference,” Cas repeats, squinting. “To what.”

“It’s-- _nevermind_. Look, dude,” Dean fiddles with his glass, shying away from Cas’ beautiful blue eyes. “I'm just... you're making me kinda nervous. And you're really hot.”

“Am I?” Cas raises an eyebrow when Dean steals another glance at him. He doesn’t know if he’s teasing him, or if Dean’s weak flirting skills are working, but if he doesn’t get to kiss Cas soon, he’s going to be very, very sad. Devastated, even.

“Yeah, man,” Dean braves, looking at him through his eyelashes. “I bet we could have a really good time together.”

Cas shakes his head, the barest hint of a smile on his face. He brings the glass to his lips, and Dean follows the movements of his throat as he drinks what’s left of his disgustingly bitter beer. Once his thirst is successfully quenched, Cas drops a bill on top of the bar and leaves his chair. “Maybe next time,” he says, before picking up his leather jacket from the chair. “Bye, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas,” Dean blinks stupidly.

The bartender snorts and refills Dean’s glance as soon as Cas is out of sight. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever witnessed. This one is on the house, man.”

“Thanks,” Dean sulks, trying not to let it get to him. The rejection was so abrupt and fast that he’s left reeling, almost dizzy with whiplash.

Dean goes to bed alone that night, just like the rest of the nights following Lee’s departure.

*

The next time Dean runs into Mr. I’m Hot Shit, it’s on a hunt. To be more precise, it’s at the _end_ of a hunt. Dean’s been chasing and snooping around a small town for almost a week, trying to follow a lead on a possible shapeshifter when he finally reaches the pitiful excuse of a den the guy’s been using to kill his victims, and it turns out that Dean wasn’t the only one following the creature.

Dean breaks down the door, blade ready in his hand, only to witness as Cas finishes stabbing the shapeshifter with a silver knife. And that’s it. Game over.

Slowly, Cas drops the body and wipes his hands on a rag, then raises his gaze to look at Dean, an awkward beat of silence passing between them.

“You… you’re a hunter,” Dean blinks stupidly, “and you stole my hunt.”

Cas scoffs, clearly offended. “You can’t steal a hunt.”

“You just did! This was my hunt!”

“Is your name on it?” Cas points out mockingly, looking unbearably handsome with his hair all mussed up and still flushed with exertion, a bruise blooming on top of a perfect cheekbone.

“I- Look, I’ve been here for two days,” Dean tries, but Cas is gathering his knife and trying to walk past him, dismissing him.

“Well, then I guess it’s too bad you were so slow,” Cas says, already leaving, Dean still standing in the middle of the room with his mouth open, a retort stuck on his tongue.

“Jesus fuck,” Dean cusses, to no one in particular, and that’s when it finally sinks in that Cas, the random guy he met at a bar just two days ago, is a _hunter_. It opens Dean’s eyes to a lot of new possibilities: did Cas know that Dean is a hunter too? Is there a meet-up spot for hunters near the town? Will Dean spot him again?

More importantly, did he purposely steal Dean's hunt?

The question bears repeating as, over the next three months, Dean runs into Cas on five of eight total hunts. On one occasion, he doesn't even really see Castiel, just catches a glimpse of him as he's leaving a seedy hole in the wall bar one night as Dean comes in. But every time Dean's in the same town, the hunt's done by the time he puts the clues together. 

Sometimes Cas has only just killed the monster, like that first time when Dean discovered that he was a hunter, too. Other times, Cas will be waiting for Dean outside of his motel door after Dean gets back from a long day of investigation, smoking a cigarette and flicking ashes onto the pavement. "Don't bother," he says, voice like the gravel Dean had crunched over that afternoon, “I already cleaned out the nest yesterday.”

Again, when he shows up at an abandoned mine shaft outside of the town border, Cas has already taken care of it. Dean gets to see how Cas finishes the job, the way he meticulously cleans his weapon once he’s done, and feels a surge of inadequacy. Dean’s been too slow again, and Cas beating him to it proves how sloppy Dean’s gotten.

Man, he’s so out of shape it’s not even funny anymore.

He turns away from the sight of Cas and decides to wait for him outside of the barn instead. It’s starting to get chillier and he’s only wearing a t-shirt and a canvas jacket, but Dean doesn’t think this conversation can wait.

Cas walks out a few minutes later, the blood on his clothes visible in the moonlight, and Dean seizes his chance.

“Hey!” he calls, waiting as Cas turns to stare at him, his head tilted to the side with curiosity. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Likewise,” Cas says, digging into his pockets until he pulls out a lighter and a small joint, lighting it up with a quick flick. The dim glow highlights the lines of his face and, for a small moment, Cas looks otherworldly. Almost ethereal.

“How…” Dean tries to ask, but he gets stuck. “This was my hunt,” he says instead.

Cas rolls his eyes at him, blowing out smoke. “Dean, you’re starting to sound like a broken record.”

Huh. Cas remembers his name.

“Look,” Dean grits out, “I just want to know how the hell are you so _fast_.”

“I’m just a quick thinker,” Cas relaxes against the farm’s fence. The sky is tinted as dark as it can get, littered with stars, away from the city lights. “Or maybe you aren’t focused enough.”

“Not possible,” Dean hisses, not even contemplating the implication. “I’ve been doing this forever, man.”

“I don’t get why you’re so annoyed,” Cas squints, his shoulders already beginning to relax as the smell of weed fills the air. “It’s not like we’re getting _paid_ for this.”

It’s really hard to argue against that.

“And...” Cas adds, taking another drag from his joint, head thrown back and eyes on the stars. “Maybe you should consider a new career choice if this is upsetting you so much.”

Dean’s fists clench at his sides, and it takes everything in him not to talk about the years he’s been honing his skills, the weight of a shotgun in his hands when he was barely six years old, how he had to learn to shoot before he basically even learned to read.

Instead, very maturely, Dean hunches his shoulders and grumbles, “Fuck you, you asshole,” and turns away from Cas, walking down the road back to town, shivering in the chill of the night as he tries to ignore the feeling of Cas’ eyes on his back.

*

There are signs of a possible vamp nest inside an old abandoned brewery in Torrington, Wyoming, so that’s where Dean ends up a month later, after another two hunts where Cas showed up, parading around like a cocky peacock and looking hot and annoying. Dean’s already interviewed two witnesses, his fed suit perfectly pressed, and he’s already snuck his way into the morgue to see the body of the last victim. Or, more like the dried husk of the person they used to be before they accidentally walked into a vampire at three in the morning, right after leaving a seedy bar.

Whatever. Dean’s not judging. Sometimes you just need a drink.

He’s got his machete ready, just waiting for night to fall, watching _The Bodyguard_ (again) in his shitty motel room, feeling kind of deflated, his shitty phone discarded at someplace near the end of the bed. Dean tried to call his dad that morning, maybe to see if he was willing to provide some backup for his hunt, but he never answered and Dean gave up after the third attempt. He then considers calling Sam, not to ask for his help, just… to vent. But it’s always been impossible to talk about dad with Sam without getting into a full-blown argument that leaves Dean feeling raw and, besides, the risk of calling Sam and getting rejected is too big, and not what Dean needs at this moment.

By the time he’s ready to go, his mood is foul with anxiety and the remnants of his poorly repressed melancholy. He’s always been good at compartmentalizing but sometimes _it’s too much_. Which is why he almost loses it when he gets to the vamp nest and catches Cas beheading the last vampire.

“You’ve gotta be fucking _kidding_ me,” Dean growls as soon as he steps into the old brewery. There’s old furniture in various states of disarray and two headless bodies laying on the floor near where Cas stands. With one brutal swing, Cas effectively beheads the third one, a bit of blood splashing his face.

It shouldn’t be hot, but, uh. Dean’s dick is kind of a fucking traitor.

“Dean,” Cas says, looking nonchalant as he cleans his hands with a rag. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” he says, smiling. Dean wants to punch his perfect teeth.

“Likewise,” Dean grunts. Cas picks up his weapon, dusting off his pants with his now clean hands. He walks up to Dean, stopping at an uncomfortably close distance.

“Personal space, Cas,” Dean grunts.

Cas blinks, looking surprised for a second, then stepping away. “Right, I’m sorry. My people skills are a little bit...” he fucking makes air quotes, what a colossal dork. “Rusty.”

Dean snorts. “I bet you were a hit with the popular kids back at school.”

“I was homeschooled,” Cas says flatly.

“Right. Anyway,” Dean sighs, running a hand down his face. “You’ve got something to tell me?”

“Not really,” Cas shrugs. “Just wanted to say goodbye. And wish you better luck next time,” Cas grins, looking proud of his achievement. Hell, he’s faster than the Flash when it comes to hunting, Dean will give him that.

But he’s such a smug asshole, too. Ugh.

“Okay. Fine,” Dean grumbles, finally turning back to leave the entire shitfest behind. “My job here is done.”

He can hear Cas say _but you didn’t do anything_ before he’s far away enough.

*

A week later, having packed his stuff up after a newspaper published an article about some brutal animal attacks in a neighboring town, Dean makes the poor decision to walk alone through the local forest in search of a werewolf. The gruesome pictures of the strange animal attacks the sheriff described seem to fit in seamlessly with werewolf M.O., and several witnesses that Dean had spoken with had described a tall, bulky white man with a beard who they'd seen where each attack had taken place. But the most telling thing about the attacks is that they've all taken place near the lake by the national park the town is nestled in, where people have mentioned seeing the shadows of large animals.

There are large, wet pawprints on the ground, relatively recent. Dean’s got a gun in his hand loaded with silver bullets. The night is so silent it’s eerie, and he can’t shake the feeling that something is about to go wrong. It’s the sort of chill that’s been spreading all the way down Dean’s back, inviting him to be extra careful. Trying not to rush. A part of him thinks that he would be safer with a partner, but he was too chickenshit to try calling his dad.

There’s an exact replica of John’s voice in Dean’s head, and it says, _man up and don’t be a pussy, Dean_.

Since Sam left and Dad left, every time Dean hunts, he wonders: what if this is the last time? What if this is the end? What if his body is never found, and Sam and John go on with their lives, assuming that Dean went on his own way too, never missing him enough to wonder if he’s still alive?

Getting so lost in his own head turns out to be Dean’s biggest mistake, because the next thing he knows, there’s an angry wolf throwing itself over Dean. He falls to the ground and manages to roll and duck the wolf’s menacing fangs, but just when he’s trying to plan his counterattack, another wolf shows up and blocks his chances of escaping to regroup.

 _Shit_ , Dean thinks, before trying to back away, nails digging into the soil, gun still clutched tightly in one hand. A loud noise distracts the wolves, and Dean doesn’t have enough time to try to figure out what it is before he’s tackling the werewolf over him and wrestling with him against the ground, heart pumping wildly with adrenaline. A loud bang rings out again: it’s the sound of a gunshot, and by the time Dean is able to shoot the wolf he’s been struggling with, he’s quick to focus on the source of the noise.

Cas is on the ground several feet away, no gun in sight, and both he and the other wolf are bleeding profusely. Dean points at the beast’s head almost automatically, shooting it three times. A heavy silence follows, only broken by Cas’ loud panting. He’s still sprawled on the ground, bleeding from an ugly gash on his thigh, face bruised. Dean guesses he can’t look any better.

“Hey,” Dean says awkwardly, “want to get out of here?”

Cas only raises an eyebrow, as if saying _you have to ask?_

*

Dean takes Cas to a cramped motel room he’s booked for the night. They make a quick stop at a gas station for some supplies and then Dean’s parking in front of the door. It was an uncomfortable car ride, filled with silence and the glances Dean kept stealing at Cas’ profile, just to make sure that he was okay.

“All right, Cas,” Dean says, flicking the light switch on and going to the bed to dump their supplies. “Pants off and sit on the bed.” Their room looks clean enough, peeling wallpaper and scratchy carpets aside, a faint lingering stench of cigarette permeating the space.

“Bossy,” Cas grumbles, actually doing what Dean told him to do, removing his bloodstained jeans and then sitting on the edge of the bed with a pained hiss. Dean goes to the bathroom so he can wash his hands properly, then gets the first aid kit from his duffel. He kneels between Cas’ spread knees and takes a preliminary look at the ugly, bleeding gash.

“Mmm,” Dean hums, uncapping a bottle of water and soaking some gauze with it, slowly and carefully cleaning the wound. “This is going to need stitches.”

“I’m going to assume you’ve done that before,” Cas huffs, looking uncomfortable.

“Yeah. A thousand times. I could do it with my eyes closed,” Dean grunts, “you want a couple of swigs? Something to ease the pain, like in the good ol’ west?” He asks, shaking the bottle a little before Cas’ eyes. He squints a little in response, like he’s considering it, before nodding with his jaw tightly clenched and taking the offered bottle, swallowing a good amount of whiskey in record time.

Once he’s done cleaning the wound, he soaks some clean gauze with the saline solution he keeps for this sort of thing, preparing the wound for suturing. He threads the needle before Cas’ impatient eyes and gets close to Cas’ thigh so he can see better once he starts stitching.

“It’s taking forever,” Cas grunts, his fingers digging into the cheap comforter. Dean ignores him, trying to go as fast as possible without fucking up or causing Cas unnecessary pain. He does a pretty good job overall: the stitches are clean and neat, the way his dad taught him. John always expected him to keep a steady hand, even when he was too young to have decent motor skills.

“All done, big guy,” Dean grins, patting Cas’ knee without thinking. He raises his head to look at Cas, only to find him staring at him.

“You did a really good job,” Cas says, sounding surprised. His thick, muscular thighs are bracketing Dean, who is still kneeling in front of him, and Dean has a sudden thought about how this isn’t the first time he’s been in this position with a dude, which makes him give a silent snort.

“Well?” Cas asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t you want a reward?” Cas smirks, and it goes straight to Dean’s dick. Maybe he’s being a little bit too hopeful here, but he could swear…

“I think,” Dean swallows nervously, flushed to the tip of his ears. “I think you’re the one who’s getting a reward here. For, y’know, sitting still. Bearing your pain in stoic silence. That shit.”

“Okay, I’m not going to complain about that,” Cas says, lowering his hand, barely touching Dean’s cheekbone. “I’m waiting,” Cas breathes, and it’s all the signal Dean needs to stare at his crotch, where Cas’ dick is currently thickening.

Slowly, he presses a kiss to Cas’ inner thigh, careful of his freshly stitched wound, and Cas makes a soft, breathless sound that sends a shiver down Dean’s spine.

“Yeah,” Dean croaks, following Cas’ gaze with his own, holding eye contact as he lowers the waistband of Cas’ boxers and _finally_ holds him in his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” is all Dean can say, suddenly losing all his critical thinking skills. Cas is heavy and warm in the palm of his hand, and then he’s guiding him to his mouth, softly kissing the tip first, savoring Cas’ musky flavor.

Dean chances another look at Cas, making sure that this is what he wants. His eyes are half-lidded and his mouth open, desire evident in every line of his body. Then, Dean is bending his head again, mouthing at the hard line of Cas’ erection, teasing him. Cas tugs at his hair impatiently, the head of his dick resting against the bottom swell of Dean’s lip. Cas is thick and big, and Dean can’t help but feel eager about having Cas inside him.

Dean closes his lips around the head again, sucking with his eyes closed, already getting acquainted with the salty flavor of Cas’ skin. Cas groans, hips rocking up into Dean’s mouth, and Dean takes more of him, swallowing past the head and going as far as he can without gagging.

 _“Fuck.”_ Cas curses, his fingers buried in Dean’s hair, pulling a moan out of him. “Dean, your _mouth_ ,” Cas babbles, and Dean loves it, he loves that he’s making Cas, who always looks so stoic, lose control like this.

Dean should be ashamed, he thinks, of how much he loves sucking cock. How much he loves pulling back and rolling his tongue around the head of Cas’ dick, sucking the tip and then swallowing Cas’ entire length in one go. But he isn’t. He bobs up and down Cas’ cock, determined to make it good for him, running a soothing hand over the skin of Cas’ uninjured thigh, wishing he could ask Cas to crush Dean’s head with his strong, hairy thighs.

Cas says _yeah_ and _Dean, Dean, Dean and your fucking mouth, I swear_. Dean pulls back, licks a long, slow line down Cas’ cock, then swallows him down. He does it again, going faster and faster, until Cas starts tugging at Dean’s hair to stop him from completely pulling back, and Dean chooses that moment to swallow Cas’ dick down to the root, choking on it until saliva is running down his chin.

Cas takes one look at him, says, “Jesus fucking Christ,” and spills down Dean’s throat, hot and bitter. Dean swallows all of it, and then pulls back carefully, breathing through his nose. He licks the tip of Cas’ cock one last time, cleaning him with his tongue, then tucks him back into his pants.

“So?”

“Good,” Cas sighs, and the only thing stopping Dean from shaking him is that he looks so blissful.

“Just good?” Dean huffs, annoyed. Cas tugs at his hair, forcing him to look up at him.

“I can’t kneel for you. Get up,” Cas orders him. Dean gets back on his feet, knees sore. He stands before Cas, jeans so painfully tight he feels like he’s going to burst out of them at any moment. Cas manhandles him until he’s unbuttoning and unzipping Dean’s pants, lowering his briefs to reveal Dean’s flushed, furiously weeping dick.

“I can’t believe you’re so wet,” Cas wonders, pulling Dean’s pants and his underwear down further. His hands reach around, each one grabbing a handful of asscheek, and Dean lets out an embarrassingly loud moan as Cas squeezes them. It’s not exactly a comfortable position for dick sucking, so he totally gets it when Cas asks for the lotion in the first aid kit and reaches for Dean’s cock instead of putting his mouth on it.

Dean’s not complaining at all, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, surrendering himself to Cas’ touch, fucking into Cas’ tight fist surrounding his erection, arching his back when Cas nudges his thighs apart just a little and nudges a slick finger behind his balls, pushing against his rim until it slides all the way inside. Dean whimpers then, a pitiful, needy sound. His thighs shake and he doesn’t know if his legs will be able to keep him from falling.

“Shh,” Cas says, sounding amused. “I knew you’d like this since the moment you kneeled in front of me,” he taunts, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s hip, sucking a bruise into the skin as he slides another finger inside Dean. Cas pushes his fingers in and out, fucking into Dean with a hard, steady pace, driving him crazy every time he nudges his prostate with them.

“I can’t,” Dean grits out, sweat running down his temple, “I can’t, Cas, I’m going to fall down,” he moans, legs shaking harder than ever, gripping Cas’ shoulders just to stay on his feet, fingers digging into the leather of Cas’ jacket. Cas says nothing, still nibbling Dean’s hip, his fingers moving harder, faster, until he’s right there, making Dean come with a cry.

He falls, legs feeling like jello. He ends up on his knees again, breathing harshly, his head resting on Cas’ leg, sweaty and covered in come. For a second, there are hesitant fingers carding through his hair, but they’re gone in a blink.

They stay like that, breathing together, Cas sitting and Dean kneeling until his eyelids start to feel heavy, and Dean clumsily climbs into the bed, naked from the waist down. “That was good,” he says.

“Only good?” Cas asks, frowning a little. It’s delightful.

“Yeah,” Dean beams. “Guess I’ll need a repeat performance to feel truly impressed.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve for someone who just got laid.”

“Heh,” Dean smiles, officially sated. “Pass me my pants.”

“Here,” Cas throws him his jeans, but they’re so filthy and covered in mud that Dean ends up leaving them on the floor. He fishes some clean boxers from his duffel and flops back down on the bed just as Cas picks up his own shredded and blood-stained jeans with a frown.

“Dude,” Dean calls out to him, “what are you doing?”

“Heading out?” Cas says, tilting his head to the side, clearly puzzled.

“That’s the worst idea in the world,” Dean snorts, patting the space next to him. “Just stay here, and,” he stops, licking his lips nervously. He has no idea how Cas is going to take his next suggestion; maybe he'll laugh in Dean's face, or roll his eyes and tell him to stop being a baby. But Dean has to ask. He's just... he's so tired of being alone. He wants someone who will have his back, who will grab a beer with him after a good hunt and stitch him back together after a bad one. And it doesn't hurt that Cas is easy on the eyes and a demon with his fingers.

“We should totally team up for future hunts, we're clearly better together… And we can be hunting-buddies-with-benefits,” Dean winks, hiding how much this means to him, just to make a point and distract Cas away enough that he won’t notice Dean’s inner drama.

Cas looks amused and vaguely fond, but not immediately repulsed at the idea of sharing the same air as Dean, so he counts that as a win. “I’ll think about it,” he says, carefully laying back down on the bed. He looks so exhausted that Dean can’t help but feel bad for him.

“You should get some rest, Cas,” he says softly, laying his head on the pillow and closing his own eyes. Cas makes a low humming noise and then his breathing slows, not long until he’s fast asleep. Only then does Dean lay his forehead next to Cas’ shoulder, slowly, like Cas is a wild animal that Dean will startle if he moves too fast." to show how precarious this moment is. The bed is too small for two adult men their size, it’s way too cold outside, and Dean’s never liked large distances between warm bodies anyway.

Dean’s last thought before falling asleep is that he should pull back and give Cas some space, but his body feels too heavy and Cas is just the amount of warmth he needs.

*

Dean wakes up feeling like he got hit by a truck. He’s drooling on… someone’s chest. Cas’ chest, to be exact. When Dean is coherent enough to open his eyes, he realizes he’s been laying with half his body on top of Cas’, his morning wood poking against the side of his thigh, and he’s quick to disentangle himself from him. He’s thankful he was the first to wake up, sparing himself the embarrassment of Cas finding out that Dean is some sort of unmanly snuggle monster.

“It’s too early for this shit,” Dean grunts, getting out of bed quickly, only a slight flush covering his face, and he locks himself in the bathroom to take a long, long shower and maybe jerk off. His erection quickly softens once the awkwardness of Cas possibly hearing him masturbate fully sets in and Dean gives up, getting dressed in his last pair of clean jeans and a red and black flannel once he’s sufficiently clean. By the time he leaves the bathroom, a bleary-eyed, grumpy-looking Cas is staring at him from the bed.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says with added cheer, “you don’t exactly look like a morning person.”

 _“Fffucumyou,”_ Cas mumbles with a sleepy glare, slowly getting up and making his way to the bathroom, unsteady on his feet and bumping his hip against the old, chipped bedside table. Dean shrugs, suddenly hungry and still way, way too sore. The events of last night are still firmly etched in his head, and he’s not sure if he’s processed them properly yet. He almost regrets asking Cas to partner up with him, but there’s _something_ about Cas, something that Dean wants to see more of. They’re well-matched, he thinks, and letting Cas go would be a waste. Dean can make all the jokes and brag all he wants about his skills being enough to hunt by himself, but the thing is that he doesn’t _want to_.

Cas leaves the bathroom with his hair wet, barefoot and looking cold with only a towel around his waist. “I need to go get my things before I miss the check out at my motel and everything gets thrown out,” he says. Wrapped only in the towel, his toned muscles wet and glistening, Dean needs to blink a couple of times before anything that Cas has said registers in his brain.

“Sure, dude,” he nods. “And after that?” Dean asks, still waiting for Cas’ answer to his offer.

Cas smiles, like he was waiting for Dean to breach that subject. “After that, we find a case.”

They do find a case. A suspected rugaru, two towns over. A week later it’s a coven of witches that takes them at least five days to dismantle. After that, there’s a particularly shitty ghoul. Dean and Cas work case after case with meticulous determination. Cas is the ideal hunting partner: clever and focused, in top physical shape and the owner of one hell of a sponge-brain, soaking in all the information in the blink of an eye. Dean hasn’t worked with anyone this quick since he and Sam used to hunt together.

It’s easy to get lost in the new routine. Cas provides more than backup during hunts, he provides companionship that Dean didn’t want to admit that he needed. Their conversations aren’t anything big, still settling into getting to know each other after only a couple of weeks of working together, but Dean has come to realize that Cas is a pretty tight-lipped guy. So far, the only things Dean knows about Cas are that he loves really juicy burgers and weed.

Especially after solving a particularly annoying case. Like a salt’ n’ burn, which Cas hates because he despises desecrating graves and he despises _digging_ even more. He gets a joint out of his pocket right after their latest ghost case, using the fire from the pyre to light it up, to Dean’s amazement.

Cas notices him watching and snorts, smoke accidentally coming out of his nostrils and making him look like a particularly loopy dragon. “When was the last time you got high and actually relaxed, you control freak?” he asks, passing the joint to Dean, who brings it up to his lips and takes a lungful. He starts feeling toasty and lazy in a matter of minutes, Cas’ question stuck between his thoughts.

Comfortably stoned, Dean thinks back to the summer of 1996, to the time he was sixteen years old and dorky as fuck around other kids. He had just discovered that he _also_ liked guys, and the only other nerd at school drunkenly told him that he liked Dean’s freckles in the middle of a house party, drinking ill-obtained alcohol by someone with a fake ID. His name was Eddie, and he gave Dean his first joint, stolen from Eddie’s older brother’s not-so-secret stash. They made out under an improvised blanket fort in Eddie’s room, _Black Hole Sun_ playing in the background. Dean remembers well the feeling of floating on top of a cloud, hot lips touching his own softly but gently.

Eddie was nice to him. They shared many, many other joints. He used to bring two sweaters to school and lend one to Dean whenever he felt cold, and big lunches that he’d share with him so Dean wouldn’t go hungry. It was the peak of romance to sixteen-year-old Dean, and they liked to hold hands and trade hungry kisses with each other behind the bleachers. Dean would make up multiple excuses to hang out with Eddie on his own and away from nosy little brothers.

Until Sam got fed up with Dean’s bullshit and ran away to Flagstaff.

 _Ah_ , Dean thinks as they make their way back to the Impala, _This is why I don’t like smoking weed_. Cas sends him a silent, questioning glance, but Dean shrugs his concern away. His hands are shaking so hard that he isn’t able to open the car door. He doesn’t even notice that Cas is standing next to him until his fingers are wrapped around Dean’s wrist and he’s taking the car keys away from him.

“Come on,” Cas says. “I know what you need.”

Dean wants to ask _Do you?_ but then Cas is pulling him towards him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist, resting his back against Baby. Dean turns into a rag doll, melting into Cas’ warm embrace and laying his head on Cas’ shoulder, Cas’ lips pressed against Dean’s temple.

“Hey,” Cas soothes him, his voice hoarse from smoking, deep like gravel, “Chase those bad thoughts away. Keep them out.”

Normally Dean would push those words, and Cas, away, would take a step back and get his shit under control, but his brain feels untethered, his body disconnected from his nerves, and so he lets himself be held, tries to do what Cas says.

Dean tries, but the taste of the joint they just shared lingers in the roof of his mouth, the same taste from the day when Sam ran away while Dean had been busy making out with Eddie. Phantom pain lights up in his jaw, and panic shoots through his body as he relives those days of fear in a single instant.

Dean opens and closes his mouth, trying to make sure that his jaw still works, that it’s not wired shut again after his dad broke it. Has to remind himself that Dad's not here. He can hear Sam’s voice in his head asking, _What’s wrong with Dean?_ And John, gruff and exhausted, replying, _Nothing, he got hurt on a hunt_.

And it hurts, it hurts, it--

“Dean,” Cas says firmly, cradling Dean’s cheeks in his hands. “Look at me.”

Dean blinks. Cas’ eyes are very, very blue if a little foggy. Then, he leans in for a kiss, soft lips sliding against Dean’s down, slow and confident. Cas lets go of his face so he can grab the back of Dean’s head, tugging at his hair, slipping his tongue between Dean’s lips. God, Dean’s never been _hungrier_.

The fog lifts and his limbs still feel weak, a vague, dark cloud remaining at the back of his mind, but he’s also panting into the kiss, pressing himself against Cas’ body with the hope that Cas will choose to give Dean _more_.

He needs it, suddenly, needs Cas' hands and lips against his own, needs the pressure to keep his mind _here_. The phantom pain in his jaw, the cold chill of memories he hates dissipate with every moment that Cas makes Dean focus on him, and he wants it-- no, _needs_ it-- to continue.

Cas seems to fumble with the car door behind him for a few seconds, until he finally manages to open it in between hungry kisses. “Get in the car, Dean,” he commands, and Dean slips into the backseat without any further thoughts, unzipping his pants and lowering them until he can spread his legs for Cas.

“Lube?” Cas slurs settling himself between Dean’s legs and running his hands up and down his thighs.

“Beneath the bench, to the right. Under the driver’s seat,” Dean watches with hungry eyes as Cas finds the tube of lube and slicks two of his fingers with it, no preamble at all. He leans forward for another kiss, this time slower but no less hungry, just as he pushes his fingers past Dean’s rim.

Dean makes a sad, keening noise and spreads his legs wider, as much as their limited space will allow him to. “I need it, Cas.” _I need you_ , he wants to say, but they’re high as fuck and this isn’t the time to freak himself out. He’s practically weeping with need as Cas finger fucks him, back arched and legs shaking.

“You love this so much,” Cas breathes, sounding incredibly awed. “I can’t believe how much you love it. How responsive you are. The way you squeeze my fingers…”

Dean flushes bright red, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Cas is just some guy he fucked a few weeks ago after a hunt, basically just a business partner. Dean knows almost nothing about him, and Cas knows the bare minimum about Dean.

And yet.

And _yet_ , the moment Cas pulls his fingers out and quickly unzips his jeans to pull himself out, his thick, long cock dripping precome, he knows he’s lost. He sinks into Dean’s ass in one long, mind-meltingly good stroke, Dean sobs so much with pleasure that he doesn’t give a fuck about anything else but wanting Cas all over him, clinging onto his shoulders as Cas starts pounding into him, cornering him against the backseat, his fingers digging into one of Dean’s thighs.

Cas’ hot mouth chases his in a messy, wet kiss as they pant together, and it’s all Dean needs, it’s all Dean is ever going to need, the absolutely filthy drag of Cas’ cock against his prostate and his big hands gripping tight into his skin, leaving bruises that will remind Dean of him.

Dean comes like that, eyes squeezed shut, with a loud, stuttering moan, clenching around Cas like a vice, never wanting to let go. Cas scoops up the come on his stomach and thumbs Dean’s lower lip with it, ordering him to lick it with a grunt. Dean does as told, sucking and licking Cas’ fingers until he’s coming too, spilling hot and deep into Dean’s body.

They’re close enough to breathe the same air. Dean waits until the hazy feeling in his brain dissipates and his heart rate goes back to normal. “Hey,” he says, gruff and sleepy, carding his fingers through Cas’ hair.

Cas makes a humming noise before raising his eyes to look at Dean, looking unbearably soft.

“I’m okay, now,” Dean says, as he keeps petting Cas’ bedhead. “Thanks, Cas.”

*

He thinks they could make this thing between them work. Dean may never hunt with John again; hell, maybe he’ll never be on his dad’s radar again because Dean’s usefulness to him ended the moment Dean helped Sam leave. And Sam’s out of the life now, he’s never going to wield a salt-filled shotgun again, he’s traded ghosts and ghouls for textbooks and classes. Sam’s going places, he’s going to be a lawyer with a wife, a home, kids, and a dog. The apple pie life.

Last year, when Dean only had Lee and his mood swings for company, when all his texts and calls to Sam and Dad went unanswered, he never would have thought that he’d get to have some degree of normalcy in his life.

But he’s got Cas now, with his dry humor and his baffling ignorance of All Things Fun, who’s disgustingly good at poker and smokes weed the way Dean chugs down whiskey.

Cas has deadly aim, he’s a pro at exorcisms, he sucks at cooking and keeps fucking up his laundry, but he sleeps with an arm over Dean’s waist now and he kisses like he’s starving for it, and Dean loves the way he can fit his nose in the crook of Cas’ neck and nose his stubbly cheeks and fall asleep warm and content.

Their time blends together enough for Dean to stop counting each month, for him to settle into this new life that he’s accidentally acquired since he made Cas a humble proposition. Dean’s hungry for every bit of information about Cas that he can get, craves every moment they spend at a bar after a hunt, waiting for the buzz of alcohol to loosen Cas’ stoic mask of self-control. But, surprisingly, it’s only after sex that Cas ever feels the desire to open up about himself.

“When did you start hunting?” Dean whispers in the dark of their hotel room. They stopped bothering with their sleeping arrangements long ago and only rent rooms with a queen bed now. It’s officially cold enough to require more than two blankets, especially since Dean is always running cold.

They’re laying next to each other, close enough for their noses to touch, naked and freshly clean after sharing a hot shower and a couple of fast blowjobs. Dean is tracing the line of one of Cas’ biceps, feeling the strong muscle under his fingertips, their legs tangled together under the covers.

He can’t see enough of Cas’ face in the dark, only the shine of his eyes.

“About a year ago.”

“A year ago?” Dean echoes.

Cas nods, lips barely touching Dean’s nose. “I was… in a precarious situation. I ran into a siren a few days after I left the only home I had known,” Cas wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Dean is close enough to be able to see it. “She almost got me, luring me with promises of a new life, when a hunter showed up and killed her. I was so shaken that he bought me dinner and explained what had happened to me. Dean, thanks to the place where I was raised, I had a very vague knowledge of all things supernatural. I lived in ignorance for twenty-five years, and one single experience changed everything for me, changed the entire world as I knew it.” 

Dean tries to imagine how things could have been different if he hadn’t been raised in the hunting lifestyle and come to know it only as an adult. As the victim of one of the kinds of cases he and his dad worked, someone who witnessed something so crazy and evil that they would have to question all their beliefs.

“I can’t say that I really understand, y’know,” Dean says. “My mom was killed by something evil. Something my dad is still chasing. This is all I’ve known since I was five years old.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, brushing his fingers across Dean’s cheekbone, a touch so gentle it’s barely there. “Every time I see you wield a weapon, the way you make connections in your head, all that knowledge you have… I keep forgetting that you’ve been doing this all your life.”

“Yeah,” Dean looks down, swallowing past the lump stuck in his throat. “Honestly, Cas, sometimes I think…”

“Mm?”

“Sometimes I think that there’s no way out of this, y’know? That this is all I’ll ever do in my life. That I’ll keep hunting until I go down in a blaze of glory, taking some son of a bitch with me.”

“Do you?” Cas asks evenly, running a thumb down Dean’s chin.

“What?”

“Do you want that?”

Filled with a sense of shame that he can’t even understand properly, Dean shakes his head. “No.”

“What do you want, Dean?” Cas asks, touching his lower lip. Dean resists the temptation of kissing the tip of his finger.

“I don’t know,” Dean answers truthfully. “I was being serious when I said that this is all I’ve ever known.”

“There’s time for you to find out what you want, Dean.” Cas pulls him closer until Dean’s head is nestled under Cas’ chin. He tells himself that they’re only huddling for warmth, that there’s nothing more to this, but Dean’s always been a shit liar. He knows he should move back, should put space between them, but it's like he can't move, can't ease himself away from Cas' arms. Dean hates how perfectly he fits there, but he refuses to think about Cas beyond their tacit agreement

The last thing Dean wants is to get burned again.

“I guess,” Dean mumbles, but he’s unwilling to admit that he knows what he wants. He wants a life beyond killing evil things and, while he enjoys the freedom of the open road, there’s the longing for a safe place to land, too. Dean barely remembers the house where his mom loved him, but it’s there, right at the bottom of his chest, buried under dirty gas stations and countless plain-looking motel rooms. Dean loves Baby, he really does, but on the coldest, hardest days, she doesn’t feel like enough. And that’s something he’s never been brave enough to tell Sam.

*

Winter seems to set in with a vengeance around Colorado, and they start making plans for staying near warmer places and looking for hunts away from the thick layer of snow that Dean desperately keeps trying to avoid, something a childhood of unattended needs, poverty, and lack of proper heating taught him to do.

Cas doesn’t look as desperate to run away from the bad weather as he is, and Dean wonders again about the place he grew up in. He’s loading the guns into the trunk when Cas comes back from a coffee run with a warm drink for Dean and a brown paper bag that probably contains their breakfast. 

“Something on your mind?” Cas asks, handing him the bag with a grin. Dean opens the bag and is delighted to see that Cas bought him a bacon burger, which would explain why the grump isn’t complaining about the cold or about being up too early; fucker probably already ate two of these babies. Dean takes one bite of his burger and properly melts. “Mmm.”

“The waitress told me it was too early for a burger breakfast,” Cas laughs, helping Dean get the rest of their stuff in the trunk.

“Dude, it’s never too early for a burger,” Dean huffs, licking his lips. They’re standing in the parking lot, right outside the motel they just vacated, nobody else in sight. “I was thinking,” he starts, “that maybe we should head to California.”

Cas visibly tenses, closing the trunk with a soft thump. “California,” he repeats, “why?”

Dean shrugs. “It’s not exactly close, but it’s _closer_. And warmer.”

“Well, in that case,” Cas argues, looking pinched, “why not Florida?”

“One, because it’s a fucking dump,” Dean snorts, “and two, because it’s all the way across the country, so. Umm, no thanks.”

“Fine,” Cas bites out. “But we should make a few stops before we get there. I don’t want to rush out.”

“Cas,” Dean finishes his burger, wrinkling the paper bag into a ball. “What’s wrong?” He wants to say _talk to me_ , but Dean doesn’t think that he’s in the position to ask Cas for that sort of stuff.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Cas says, jaw clenched shut. He opens the car door and slides into the shotgun seat without a word, refusing to say anything else, not even when they start driving. Dean cranks up the music just to deal with the uncomfortable silence until Cas finally falls asleep in his seat. The tight lines of Cas’ face disappear in his sleep, and something heavy and tight settles in Dean’s chest when he looks over at Cas’ peaceful face, thinking about all the puzzle pieces he’s missing.

Cas is just the guy who raids libraries for research with Dean, sits on the floor next to him to clean their weapons. The guy who provides backup and dry humor. The guy Dean has sex with. If Dean’s dying to unravel all the things Cas keeps close to his chest, well, that’s his own problem.

His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Yes. That’s Dean’s problem, not Cas’.

Cas doesn’t owe him anything. No promises were ever made. No labels exist between them, and if they happen to exclusively sleep with each other, well, that’s a matter of convenience.

Eventually, Cas wakes up enough to look at his surroundings through the window, bleary-eyed and grumpy, only to frown at the sight of the road.

“What is it?” Dean asks.

Cas grunts, clearly displeased. “Where are we?”

“Utah.”

“Fucking great,” Cas mumbles, sinking into the seat.

Dean snorts, eyes fixed on the road. “What did Utah ever do to you? Is it the Mormons?”

Cas doesn’t answer, but Dean catches him glaring every time they pass one of the beehive-shaped road signs.

Dean spends most of the ride trying to get out of his own head, with Cas barely speaking, until they decide to stop in a tiny town near Salt Lake City, booking a room at a roadside motel that’s been painted a bright, annoying lime green. Cas grumbles about it, then complains about the moldy bathroom and the dusty bed frame but flops down anyway on the bed, immediately turning away from Dean.

Oh, Dean thinks angrily, _so it’s like that._

“I’m going out,” Dean grunts, because it’s obvious that Cas won’t talk about what’s bothering him, and that he wants to be alone. “Don’t wait up.”

Cas hums his acknowledgment and soon enough Dean is out of the room, wearing a blue sweater under his jacket that he stole from Cas, because Dean has been known to be a petty bastard when he wants to be.

The night is cold, but not unbearable. Dean gets a copy of the local newspaper and circles a few things in it detailing a string of animal attacks that have left a trail of dead sheep, making a mental note to show it to Cas when he’s out of his funk.

Not wanting to interrupt Cas’ sullen mood, Dean avoids going back to the motel by hitting the first bar he finds, sitting at the counter, and ordering a glass of whiskey. It turns out to be a smart choice, because he spends the next few hours talking to a farmer that has already lost four sheep and a calf in one of the mysterious attacks reported by the paper. Dean promises him that he will take a look at his barn the following night since he’s already suspecting they’re dealing with a good ol’ chupacabra.

When he’s back at their room, Cas is passed out under the covers, hair sleep-messy and back still facing the door, because he clearly hasn’t learned enough Hunting 101.

Then again, not everyone gets their lessons from John Winchester.

Dean gets rid of his jacket, boots, and jeans, and crawls into the bed, pleasantly drunk and looking to get warm. The wide planes of Cas’ back and the firmness of his shoulders look so inviting that Dean can’t help but cuddle against him, resting his cheek against the spot between Cas’ shoulders, right in the middle of his back. Cas sighs in his sleep and Dean clumsily wraps an arm around his middle, feeling content like only a drunk fool does.

*

Dean doesn’t wake up until noon, something that rarely happens. He chalks it up to the combination of the long hours spent driving and the mild hangover he’s nursing. There's an annoying ache pounding behind his temples and just above his right eyebrow, and the bed feels cold right next to him. Cas is nowhere to be seen, which means that he probably went out to get them some food. Good.

Dean could use some bacon. He could use all the fucking bacon, the greasier the better.

By the time he’s out of the shower, properly dressed, properly medicated, and feeling more like a human being, Cas steps into the room holding some takeout bags, looking like Dean’s guardian angel.

“Thank god,” Dean whines. “I was about to starve, dude.”

“You’re exaggerating, Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes at him, then flops on the ratty couch, setting the takeout bags on the coffee table. “You should thank me since I took pity on you,” Cas smirks, posture going relaxed, sitting with his legs spread. Dean’s stomach does a weird flip thing, like it does every time Cas does something insignificant.

“You sure are in a better mood today,” Dean grumbles, going to sit next to him on the couch, nudging Cas’ leg with his knee. “You were pretty pissy yesterday.”

“Yeah, about that…” Cas trails off, actually sounding regretful as he picks up a container full of stir-fry. “I’m sorry, Dean. I was in a pretty foul mood.” He lowers his eyes to the ground, frowning, and Dean can’t take it anymore.

“Cas, don’t beat yourself up,” Dean says. “Look… I don’t know what’s bothering you, but if you ever feel like talking about it… I mean, I’m pretty bad at this ‘talking about feelings’ crap, but I can try. For you. I guess,” he adds, nervously. Cas looks grateful at not being pressured, digging into his food, but not raising the subject again.

Dean has left the doorway open, and it’s up to Cas to see if he wants to cross it. They’re back to bantering and talking, the tense mood officially eradicated. Cas gets wrinkles around his eyes every time he laughs, and Dean wants to kiss them. He wants to kiss Cas all the time.

He’s constantly drowning in the desire to kiss Cas. They haven’t had sex for a few days now, and he aches with the need to touch Cas in a more intimate way. Dean is just too insecure to ask, too insecure to make a move and reveal how much he wants Cas. How, for Dean, their arrangement is leaving the friend-with-benefits territory and becoming something bigger and terrifying.

The entire day feels too peaceful to be real. It passes in a blur of takeout, TV (there’s a channel playing the first Star Trek movie and Dean is so making Cas watch that) and Dean sharing what he knows about the possible chupacabra case with Cas.

When night falls, Dean starts choosing their weapons and getting their stuff ready, Cas puttering around the room as he does the same. He stops whatever he’s doing for a bit and rests a hand on Dean’s back, looking somewhat hesitant.

“Dean,” Cas says, looking so solemn that Dean starts to get worried. “I had a great time today.”

“Me too,” Dean smiles, relieved. “You don’t have to be so serious about that, you weirdo,” he teases him, but Cas does the annoyed-squinty thing he does every time Dean is being cheeky, and then leans in to press a kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Cas smiles at him, before going back to what he was doing. Dean barely resists the impulse to touch his cheek, chest warm and tight with too many fuzzy feelings. It’s like he’s regressed to being a schoolboy.

Dean should have known it wouldn’t last.

They arrive at the farm while the night is still early, knocking on the farmhouse door so Dean can notify the owner that he’s going to be looking in his barn, just like he promised. The farmer explains that he hasn’t had the guts to go in there yet, the trail of blood leading up to the barn enough to keep him away. Dean tries to not judge him, as Cas does an excellent job of looking stoic.

When they open the barn doors, Dean expects a monster ready to pounce, but nothing of the sort happens. Instead, he hears Cas’ gasp next to him, as they stare at the barn walls. Right in the center, there's a massive beehive drawn in dark red lines. Dean realizes it’s dried blood, more appropriate for an inverted pentagram instead. Dean doesn’t know what it means and whatever question he has dies in his throat when he sees how pale Cas has gone.

“Cas?” Dean asks, only to be ignored. Cas stares for another moment, and then he’s bolting out of the building, straight up running towards where they’re parked. “Cas!” Dean calls again, jogging behind Cas’ frantic figure.

Cas jumps into Baby as soon as Dean opens the door. “Just drive,” he barks. Dean, still too baffled to argue with him, drives back to their motel, buzzing with too many questions, but not brave enough to ask anything yet. Cas gets out the car like a flash, right after Dean parks at the motel, and almost closes the door to their room in Dean’s face.

“Cas, buddy,” Dean tries again. “You gotta tell me what’s going on.”

“They found me,” Cas mutters, pacing around the room. “They found me, Dean. They must know. _He_ knows that I’m here.”

“Who?”

“My brother,” Cas says. He’s shaking like a leaf, looking cold and vulnerable. Dean walks up to him, effectively erasing the distance between them, and makes him sit on the edge of the bed.

“He… I ran,” Cas starts explaining, but he doesn’t look like he’s completely present. “I ran away. From our home.”

“You’re an adult, Cas,” Dean frowns.

Cas shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand… there were rules. There were a lot of rules. And I broke the most important one.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Dean says, starting to feel anxious. “Cas, _please_.”

“I didn’t know it until I left, but...” Cas gulps, carefully looking at Dean. “I was raised in a cult.”

“A cult,” Dean blinks.

“In Northern California,” Cas smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. “In the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, where everything is green and _fruitful_. Michael called it a ‘settlement’, or, more affectionately, ‘the land of milk and honey’. But he named the village _Angel Valley_.”

“Jesus,” Dean says, not unironically. “You were raised by religious fanatics.”

“Not religious fanatics. A religious fanatic, I’m afraid. My parents are dead, and the task of raising me fell upon Michael, the leader of our blessed community. And my brother.”

“Your brother,” Dean repeats, because that’s all he can do right now. Repeat things stupidly. “And you ran away.”

“Yes,” Cas nods, closing his eyes. “Something wasn’t right… something…” he trails off, his hands shaking uncontrollably, visibly struggling to continue. “People were disappearing and Michael kept acting more and more deranged, kept telling us that the end was near, that the missing people were all tainted and exiled because of it. Forbidden from ascension.”

“Cas…”

“I couldn’t do it anymore, Dean,” Cas says, choking back tears. “I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“C’mere,” Dean tries to pull him into his arms, but Cas surprises him by tugging at Dean’s jacket until he’s straddling Cas’ lap, Cas’ arms safely secured around his waist.

“Look at me, Dean,” Cas begs, and Dean lowers his eyes at him, losing himself in Cas’ intense stare. “Tell me you’re real.”

“I’m real, Cas.”

“Tell me this is real.”

“ _This is real_ ,” Dean punctuates his answer with a sweet kiss that quickly turns deeper, hungrier.

“Dean,” Cas breathes again his lips, only stopping to help Dean out of his jacket and allowing Dean to do the same for him.

“Cas, wait,” Dean tries to speak between kisses. “Cas, are you--”

“I’m okay,” Cas mumbles, hiding his face in Dean’s neck and sucking a bruise there, pressing messy, desperate kisses against his throat. “I’m okay, I swear.”

“Are you?”

Cas practically rips Dean’s shirt off as an answer, “Dean. Please,” he says, looking almost pained. He knows they should talk about this, worried by how hard Cas’ hands are shaking, how fragile his eyes look. His touches are frantic and rushed and Dean has to help him remove his shirt before Cas ends up strangling himself with it.

The rest of their clothes are quickly discarded until Dean needs to climb out of Cas’ lap to remove his boots and his pants. Once properly naked, Cas pushes Dean onto the bed, crawling over him, never looking away from him. He rests a palm on Dean’s cheek and Dean leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“Look at you,” Cas says, sounding achingly tender, finally slowing down a little. It’s like he’s taking his time to memorize Dean’s face, touching his cheekbones with a gentle thumb, then running a finger down his lower lip. “Dean, if you could see yourself.”

“Cas,” Dean pleads, because he feels embarrassed, but Cas won’t let him get away with that. He kisses Dean, licking into his lips, slipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth, to claim every little corner, while Dean squirms under him. 

Dean is painfully hard, his cock flushed red, occasionally bumping against one of Cas’ thighs. Everything about this moment feels different from the previous times they’ve fucked: it’s slower, gentler, less rushed. Cas leaves a trail of kisses on Dean’s skin, taking his time to mark every spot properly, leaving bruises that will remind Dean of Cas every time he touches them.

His legs fall open when Cas touches his hips, kisses the softness of his tummy. “I love this part of you,” Cas says, amused, just to see Dean flush with embarrassment, probably. The fucker.

“I love how soft your body is,” Cas presses a kiss to the crease between hip and thigh, and Dean shudders with the excitement of anticipation. “I love how it bends to my will; how responsive it is.”

“Cas, you’re driving me crazy,” Dean whines, arching his back as Cas mouths at the base of his dick, teasing him with small, short kisses. Instead of answering Dean’s pleas, Cas just hums and puts his hands on Dean’s parted legs, petting the inner part of his thighs, lowering his face past Dean’s dick and behind his balls to lick at Dean’s hole.

“Holy fucking shit—” Dean moans, so loud the people renting the room next to theirs probably heard it, too. Cas pushes his tongue inside, then pulls back, fucking into Dean slowly, calmly taking Dean apart.

Dean is panting, tugging at Cas’ messy dark hair, clutching at the sheets with his other hand, scrambling to find the tube of lube he left under the pillow in a moment of feeling too hopeful.

“Not yet,” Cas says, now grabbing Dean’s thighs to get more comfortable as he eats him out, licking into Dean in long strokes, fucking him with his tongue until Dean is desperately clenching around him, begging for more.

Cas takes mercy on him. “You did good,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to Dean’s knee, lowering his legs to grab the lube. Cas quickly slicks his fingers, laughing when he catches Dean looking at him.

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

Cas smiles, fond. He presses two fingers into Dean’s hole, leaving him breathless. “The look you give me every time I do this,” Cas murmurs, focusing on fucking his fingers in and out of Dean.

Dean drops his head on the bed again, eyes clenched shut with the effort not to come. “Cas. Cas, I need you,” he babbles, an old mantra that slips out whenever Cas touches him. Whenever Cas lights him up inside, not even aware of what he’s really doing to him by taking him apart and pulling him back together with his own hands. The press of Cas’ cockhead against his hole feels like freedom. Cas pushes inside in one single motion, one firm stroke that pulls a visceral, punched-out noise out of Dean’s lungs, the air completely stolen from them.

“Come here,” Cas slurs, looking drunk with arousal. He pulls Dean into his lap, and Dean rests his hands on Cas’ shoulders to cling onto him as Cas sets a fast, desperate pace. He’s gripping Dean’s hips so tightly that his knuckles have gone white, murmuring soft words of encouragement as he fucks into Dean.

Dean grinds against Cas’ body, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, hungry kisses that turn messy and open-mouthed, just them breathing together. Every time Cas touches his prostate, Dean’s thighs quiver violently, and he begs for more between stuttered breaths and loud moans.

Dean doesn’t even try to touch himself, wanting to come just like this, with the hot, agonizing drag of Cas’ cock against his prostate as Cas pounds into him, calling Dean’s name over and over again.

Cas’ clutches him tight against his chest, coming with a soft gasp, spilling deep into Dean’s body, stealing a clumsy kiss from his lips. Dean follows right after, clenching around Cas and greedily trying to keep him inside. He doesn’t allow Cas to pull out right away and they sit there, holding each other and panting, trading lazy kisses.

Dean kisses the bolt of Cas’ jaw as Cas pulls out of him, come slowly running down Dean’s thighs. Cas lays him back on the bed, looking at him with a transfixed expression. He slides two fingers inside Dean’s hole, fucking his own come back into Dean, his eyes going a little wild at the keening noise Dean makes and his touch a little too desperate.

Legs shaking like crazy, hand fisting the sheets for purchase, Dean sobs openly as Cas finger fucks him again. His whole body feels like it’s made out of water, and he’s not sure that he can come again, but he’s sure that he wants this. He wants Cas to keep touching him, to keep looking at Dean the way he’s looking at him now: like Dean is the best fucking thing Cas has ever seen.

Cas makes him come a second time, pulling him apart just with his fingers. Dean beckons for him to get closer, content to have Cas right next to him on the bed, so he can lay his head on Cas’ strong chest, run a hand up and down Cas’ firm stomach, pet his jutting hip bones softly.

“We should clean up,” Cas says, interrupting Dean’s awesome post-coital mood.

“You do it,” Dean answers, snuggling into Cas’ side. “I’m not getting up ever again. You fucked me stupid.”

“You sound pretty coherent right now.”

“You’re not that talented, Cas.”

Cas chuckles, a gravelly noise that fills Dean with content. He kisses the top of Dean’s head. “Dean?”

“Mm?” Dean’s eyelids are beginning to drop, but he tries to climb to wakefulness for Cas.

“Thank you,” Cas whispers, suddenly looking sad, his fingers tracing Dean’s cheekbone. “I mean it.”

“You fucking weirdo,” Dean mutters, frowning slightly at the melancholy on Cas’ face, and makes a mental note to talk to him in the morning, bloody beehives and cults already forgotten for the night.

*

Even after epic, highly satisfying sex, Dean is a light sleeper.

Which is why the rustling sounds coming from the other side of the room manage to wake him up.

“What,” Dean grumbles, looking for the bedside lamp and settling for his phone instead, “the fuck are you doing at… 4:22 in the morning?” Cas’ silhouette immediately settles, the sound of a zipper accompanying his sudden stillness. He’s sitting at the end of the bed, his back turned to Dean, wide shoulders stiff, the line of his back straight and severe. Once Dean gets used to the darkness surrounding the room, he uneasily notices that Cas is wearing his signature leather jacket.

So. It’s like that, then.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean dares to open his mouth again, the slightest nervous edge to his mouth. “Come back to bed, man.”

Cas sighs, and it’s the kind of sigh that sounds impatient instead of sad, the kind of sound Cas makes when he’s about to explain something that Dean won’t like. He leaves the bed and walks toward the door to flip the light switch on. In the sudden illumination, Dean is finally able to appreciate the downturned curve of Cas’ lips and the severity of his frowned brow.

Cas’ packed duffel lays there on the floor, ready to go. Dean’s back turns cold.

“Dean—” Cas says, in that placating, condescending tone he sometimes uses. Dean hates it so fucking much.

 _Please_ , Dean thinks, with startling, painful clarity. _Please don’t do this to me. Not you too._

“Where are you even going, Cas,” Dean insists, trying his hardest to contain his anger. “Were you even going to say goodbye?”

“You won’t like the answer to those questions,” Cas retorts, head lowered to the floor. It’s like he’s unable to look at Dean’s face.

“You were just… you were just going to go.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Dean asks, voice barely steady. Vaguely, he notices that he’s only wearing underwear, and that he’s free of any traces of semen. Cas must have cleaned him after he fell asleep.

“Dean, I can’t… I can’t stay here. If Michael finds me…”

“Hold on,” Dean cuts him off, a chill running down his spine. “You’re running away? You’re going to fucking _hide_?”

Cas flinches as if Dean had slapped him, but when he recovers from it, a hard, cold look has taken over his face. “Don’t talk so freely about something you don’t understand.”

“What I understand, Cas,” Dean hisses, “is that your brother is leading some kind of weird fucked up cult where people have gone _missing_. And when you told me about that, I thought that meant that we were going to do something about that. Together.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Cas snaps, an ugly look across his features. “I’m not going back there. Not for you. Not for anyone, Dean.”

“Okay, fine. But,” Dean keeps pushing, and pushing, desperately trying to stop feeling whatever feelings of devastation are settling inside him. “Why the fuck are you running away in the middle of the night?”

“I,” Cas starts, very carefully. “I don’t want you to go with me.”

Dean should have fucking known.

“Okay,” Dean sags, shoulders hunched. “You… you want to be on your own.”

Cas nods, and it looks like he’s going to reach for Dean for a second, but then he’s back to his stiff posture. “It’s for your own safety, Dean. You don’t know Michael, and you can’t imagine how dangerous this could be. I should be able to handle this without getting you into this mess.”

“What makes you think you get to decide what’s right or safe for me?” Dean asks tiredly, body taut with an exhausting sort of anger.

“I’m not trying to do that,” Cas runs a hand through his messy hair, looking frustrated. “I never meant… you said…” He seems to steel himself, and his handsome face looks like it’s been carved out of stone, building a wall around himself to keep Dean as far away as possible. “I’m ending our partnership now. I’m sorry, I truly am. It’s not you, Dean.”

Yeah, Dean’s heard all that before. “Just fucking go,” Dean spits out, a chasm opening up in his chest. All this time, Cas has had Dean’s heart between his teeth, and he didn’t even notice.

Cas stares at him, silently. Dean wonders if Cas pities him, if he sees right through him, if he’s been aware all this time of how Dean has been clinging to him, craving his affection and company, enjoying Cas’ presence in his life more than Cas enjoyed Dean’s.

“Goodbye, Dean,” he hears Cas say, because Dean refuses to look at him anymore. He climbs back into bed, sinking under the covers and pretending that he doesn’t hear Cas lock the door on his way out. So Dean can pretend that Cas never left and that his place is right next to Dean, in an infinite number of different motel beds, Dean’s head on Cas’ chest.


	2. Chapter 2

The first and biggest step in Dean’s Great Rebound plan is hitting the liquor store.

He’s nowhere ready to skip town, and he’s not ready to be around people after yesterday’s fiasco, so he can’t scout the bars. Yet. Going to the liquor store is easier, just handing his ID to the uninterested clerk and walking back to his car with his arms full of whiskey bottles.

Baby is waiting for him, parked to the side of the road. He’s not… the idea of going back to the motel room he and Cas had been renting makes him sick. Dean had grabbed all his shit and left hours after Cas did, when he finally managed to get over the shock.

Dean tells himself that he’s fine, that he saw this coming from a mile away, that he and Cas had never agreed to anything. Theirs was a business partnership, nothing more. It was about Dean (pathetic and needy) not wanting to hunt alone, looking for someone to cover his back, and Cas fulfilling that need because he was the only one available to do it.

Dean definitely doesn’t think about the short list of contacts in his phone, of the number of people who won’t pick up if he needs them, refuses to think about the empty corners of his life that Cas filled so neatly.

That’s when it hits him like a freight train. The idea that Cas won’t be there anymore, to fill the emptiness that lives in Dean. That Dean could die at any moment, in some random hunt and nobody would find out, because nobody would care enough to find out. At some point during his… acquaintanceship with Cas, Dean lowered his walls and became stupid enough to believe that he had found something permanent. That he and Cas would hunt, free on the open road until that way of living became unsustainable and they finally settled down. Dean’s never had a home, but he makes homes out of people.

And that’s just… wrong, Dean thinks, whiskey bottle in his hand and alcohol burning down his throat. You can’t do that. People aren’t sturdy enough to become homes, their foundations aren’t strong enough. They waver and then crumble around you, leaving you bereft. Leaving you to pick up the pieces. Just like Cas did: he left, after fooling Dean into loving him, loving his companionship and his too-blue eyes and his strong arms that seemed to hold everything in place.

Cas made the choice to remove himself from Dean’s life, never looking back and considering how long and how hard it would be for Dean to fill up the crevices.

Next thing Dean knows, the day is painted orange and red and he’s getting chillier despite the burn of alcohol running through his body. There’s nowhere else to be: Dean’s too drunk to hunt or drive, and it’s too late to go back to the motel and beg for the room he previously vacated.

Silently, slowly, as his eyelids drag with the weight of exhaustion and Dean surrenders to the buzz of alcohol, he finds his way back to his old way of living and his former self: the one who never looked forward to the next day.

*

Dean leaves for Nevada after a bender that lasts a week. Or maybe it’s a month. Time is meaningless to him now. _Shit, way to sound like an emo teenager._

The local newspaper in a small town on the border of Utah and Nevada publishes a small article about moving objects that makes Dean suspect there’s a case there. Maybe a quick salt n’ burn, something easy to pass time, to distract himself from the ache that has taken up permanent residence inside his heart. It hurts constantly, the space Cas used to occupy just by merely existing: the right side of the bed, his place right next to Dean in the Impala, his chest pressed against Dean’s back, arms surrounding Dean’s waist.

The case turns out to involve one hell of an angry ghost, a huge collection of snow globes, a terrified elderly couple, and Dean digging through their backyard to find the bones of the previous owner of their haunted house.

Getting attacked by flying snow globes, digging, decimating the garden, finding the bones, and burning them. It’s all automatic. Dean is just going through the motions, uncomfortably hungover and exhausted, head too full of thoughts to even pay proper attention to what he’s doing. He’s drowning in his own misery, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He spent six months of his life with Cas, falling in love with him and pretending he was just a hunting partner. Now Cas is gone, and the devastation keeps settling in, pouring out of Dean and spilling everywhere, taking hold of him every time he’s alone at night, resting on a bed that feels too big for him.

Still, Dean keeps filling his time with small hunts that don’t require too much of his brain in order to work. He takes care of three other cases involving ghosts, and one particularly nasty ghoul that ends up with him falling through a window and having to patch up himself later. Overall, it’s not that bad, though it’s… definitely slow going, and he’s had more productive work periods before, but two more months go by before Dean can finally breathe without feeling like he’s running out of air, and that his chest is too small for his lungs.

That’s when Cas calls.

Dean’s sleeping off a nasty concussion courtesy of ghoul shenanigans, passed out on a lumpy motel bed when his phone rings. He would’ve ignored it, but the song coming from the speakers is _Thank you_ by Led Zeppelin, and there’s only one person Dean was ever corny enough to assign that song to.

Against his better judgement, heart beating too fast, Dean picks up.

_“Hello, Dean.”_ Cas’ rough voice is enough to make his heartbeat skyrocket and soon, dizzy and still sore, Dean moves clumsily into a sitting position.

“Cas,” Dean croaks, “what… why are you… are you okay?”

He thinks he hears a small huffing sound.

_“I’ve been better,”_ Cas answers, followed by an awkward pause. _“How have you been, Dean?”_

“Peachy,” he lies. Like a liar. “Yeah. Good. I’ve been doing good. Busy, y’know.”

_“Yes. Yes, I can imagine.”_

There’s another long, awkward silence. God, Dean misses the way they used to talk.

_“Listen, Dean…”_ Cas starts, sounding inevitably awkward himself, _“there’s… I need your help. With something important. I’ll understand if you don’t want to help me, but… I’d really appreciate it.”_

Dean spent only six months of his life with Cas, but he likes to think that he got to know him at least a little. Enough to understand the nuances coming from his voice, to understand how uncertain and insecure Cas sounds right now. “Sure, Cas,” Dean mumbles. “Just tell me where.”

_“I’ll text you the address and the rest of the details,”_ Cas says, immediately sounding relieved. _“We’ll meet at a diner right next to the road.”_

“Yeah— yeah, okay.”

_“Thank you, Dean.”_

Dean has very little time to think about how quickly he agreed to help Cas.

The diner is like all the ones Dean’s already been to, lights too shiny, squeaky vinyl seats, questionable stains on the linoleum floor. Dean spends too much fixating on it as he picks a table and takes a seat, signaling for the waitress so she can take his order. He asks for coffee and nothing else, since he feels too queasy about seeing Cas again. Dean keeps wondering if Cas is doing okay, if he’s needed, someone. If he did what he had to do and if that's done already, why does he need Dean now? An icy cold feeling spreads through his chest when he thinks about it: Cas specifically said that he needed help, not that he wanted to see Dean just for the sake of doing so.

The bell chimes and the door opens. Dean closes his eyes and chooses not to turn, too afraid of what’s currently written on his face. By the time Cas walks up next to the booth, Dean thinks he’s managed to get a hold of himself.

“Hey,” Dean tries to smile, but he knows it doesn’t look very authentic. If Cas notices, it doesn’t look like he cares.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, looking as tense and stoic as the last time they saw each other, the corners of his mouth barely ticking up. There’s a frown obscuring his brow that Dean wishes he could erase with a brush of his thumb and a kiss.

“Can I sit?” Cas gestures at the seat across from Dean, behaving way more politely than he usually does. If they were on better terms, Dean would actually find it amusing.

“It’s a free country,” Dean shrugs. “Anyway, what did you need?”

Cas visibly flinches, and Dean actually regrets jumping straight to the point.

“This isn’t easy for me to ask…” Cas says, crossing his arms. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“Oh?” Dean raises an eyebrow, trying not to look too interested in whatever Cas has to say about that. “And that’s…?”

“Doing something,” Cas lets out in a breath. “... I wasn’t completely truthful when I told you about my family.”

“Cas, you didn’t really tell me a lot.”

Cas grimaces. “I know, but I need to explain this to you… I want to go back home. To the cult. My sister is there.”

“Your sister,” Dean echoes, surprised.

“We were supposed to run away together. Her, her girlfriend, and me. But Anael ended up staying behind… our plan didn’t work. Ruby was found retrieving their backpack from Anael’s room, and we were going to get caught, so Anael stayed behind to help her. And I ran,” Cas confesses, face pinching with what Dean recognizes as the crushing weight of guilt.

“Dude…”

“Don’t try to excuse it, Dean,” Cas cuts him off. “I don’t want to hear it. What I did was inexcusable and it’s time that I fixed that. I’ve been thinking… I need to know that she’s alive and well, that she’s not missing.”

“And the other people,” Dean whispers.

“I want to help them too.” Cas nods, looking earnest. “But I can’t do it on my own.”

“What do you need?” Dean asks, mind already made because he’s a fucking idiot.

“I need you to provide me with a motivation,” Cas finally uncrosses his arms, leaning forward on the table. “I _need_ you to be my motivation.”

“I don’t think I’m following you, man.”

“We’re going to tell Michael that I ran away because I was afraid of facing rejection within our community for being a queer man,” Cas explains without blinking.

“Okay, and me…?”

“We’re going to tell him,” Cas hesitates, “that the reason I stayed away is that I fell in love with you and married you.”

Dean freezes, a cold, heavy feeling nestling in his gut. Cas is talking about _pretending_ to love Dean, not about loving Dean in reality, but it’s enough to rattle him into stillness. He makes the mistake of focusing on Cas’ too blue eyes and taking in the pleading look on his face.

Dean is lost.

He was always lost.

“I’m done running,” Cas says, unhappy lines on his face. “When I saw that bloody beehive mural… That’s the symbol of our community. Michael was the one who tasked me with looking after the bees. I knew it was a message, and I— panicked. But people are in danger, and I’m willing to do something now.”

“You sure this is going to work?” Dean asks, taking a moment to pull himself together.

Cas looks even more determined. “If we convince Michael to let us in, we can find out if the missing people are still alive and find a way to dismantle the community once we discover what Michael is actually doing.”

“Okay,” Dean sighs, leaning back in his seat, feeling even more exhausted. “Just gotta play happy families, I guess.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas reaches out for Dean’s hand on top of the table, and Dean swallows down a _Save it, Cas_. But he’s a weak ass coward, and he’s about to play Fake Husbands with Cas, so he takes the olive branch he’s being offered.

*

The drive to Northern California feels wildly ominous, Cas getting paler as they keep getting closer to the mountains.

They rent a motel room just a few miles away from Cas' family's ranch. He's not ready yet to go there, and Dean gets it. It's late, they've been driving in silence for hours, tension thick inside the car. The inner workings of Castiel's head are something Dean doesn't have access to (even if there was a moment when Dean thought that, maybe, he was starting to understand the way Cas' brain ticked), but it doesn't take a genius to guess that Cas is terrified as fuck. The line of his jaw is tight and stiff, and Dean longs to press a trail of kisses to it, to nose at Cas' stubble silently, make soft, soothing noises against his skin.

The room Cas books has two beds in it, divided by a nightstand and a lamp. Cas dumps his duffel between the beds and disappears to the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Dean stands there like a fool in the middle of the room, mourning the distance between the beds and the inherent silence tied to them. They’re off to a terrible start, considering they’re going to the settlement in less than twelve hours, and they’re supposed to act like a perfectly happy married couple. Not for the first time in the last couple of days, Dean wonders if he did the right thing when he accepted to help Cas with his change of heart.

Sure, it’s morally _right_ , because there are people in actual danger. Dean’s not sure if there’s anything there for him to hunt. Sometimes, Dean knows, there aren’t any monsters lurking in the shadows. Sometimes, the shadows are just that: shadows. People can be as evil and terrible as the most bloodthirsty monsters, but Dean was never trained to hunt people.

Dean was hurt by people. Dean was hurt on his knees. Hurt to the bones by violence. Hurt by indifference and neglect.

But he’s never actively hurt people himself.

Cas leaves the bathroom, the sound of his bare feet dragging Dean out of his thoughts. There are deep, dark shadows under his eyes and he looks like he hasn’t gotten any sleep in at least a month. Dean feels for him, because he keeps forgetting that he should be angry at Cas for dumping him as if he were yesterday’s news.

“You going to bed?”

“Yeah,” Cas grunts, flopping on the bed next to the door. “I’m going to need all the sleep I can get if I’m going to deal with that asshole again.”

“Right. Smart,” Dean fidgets, first standing next to Cas’ bed, then finally going to sit on his own. “You need anything?”

“No,” comes Cas’ muffled answer.

“Gotcha,” Dean replies, effectively letting the conversation die. He wishes talking to Cas were easier, but their nerves are clearly sabotaging them. Dean barely sleeps that night, contemplating all the possibilities, all the things that could go wrong. During a moment of vulnerability, he spares a thought for Sam, and wrestles against the desire to call him just to hear his voice. Sam hasn’t been answering his phone, something that Dean suspected would happen when John told him to stay gone. Not that Dean’s drunk and whiny voicemails helped his case, but he wishes… 

Maybe he wouldn’t ask Sam for advice, because Dean sucks at talking about his own feelings, and he isn’t too keen on having a chick-flick moment when he’s feeling so vulnerable and raw, but… he wishes he could hear his brother’s voice again, just to feel reassured. He thinks about Cas’ sister being left behind and Dean aches for her, because he knows that feeling all too well. In Cas’ place, Dean would never have been able to leave Sam behind, not even for his own freedom, but he knows, down to the bottom of his heart, that Sam wouldn’t have done the same. Sam would have kept going because he, just like Cas, was born to spread his wings and fly.

Dean has always been terrified of heights.

*

Michael’s fucking “settlement” is surrounded by a wall made out of logs with a giant, pretentious gate in front of it. It’s imposing and unnecessary, which means that Dean immediately hates it and everything that hides behind it. The two burly guys guarding the gate open their eyes really wide upon seeing Cas, and they scramble to give the signal that will get the gates open. Cas purses his lips, projecting some really intensely intimidating vibes, but also looking like he’s ready to pass out.

On an impulse decision, Dean grabs his hand and squeezes it in his own, trying to provide silent support. Cas sends him a grateful look.

“Castiel,” comes a smug voice. A tall dude is walking towards them, crossing the gates. He’s tall, almost as tall as Cas and Dean are, with dark hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes that manage to look smarmy instead of earnest, like Cas’ own.

“Castiel,” he repeats, opening his arms wide, and Dean perks up at the name. “The beehives have missed you, dear brother. Our bees have mourned you dearly.”

There are a lot of questions stuck in Dean’s tongue, but his line of thought is interrupted by a series of annoying sneezes. His eyes started feeling watery as soon as they got close to the gates. Maybe it’s the pollen.

“Michael,” Cas forces a sober smile, trying to fake some happiness. “It’s been a while. I’ve missed you.”

“And the bees,” Michael says, with a smirk. “Don’t forget the bees.”

“How could I,” Cas grits his teeth.

“Indeed.” Michael stops smiling, looking dead serious as he rests his annoying paws on Cas’s shoulders. “At last, the prodigal son returns. And he’s not alone,” he focuses on Dean, then, and something in the intense way Michael is looking at him manages to send a chill down Dean’s spine, his eyes looking him up and down, taking him in.

“I’m Dean,” he smiles his best charming smile, trying to look as harmless as possible. “I’m your brother’s husband.”

“I see,” Michael hums, still looking at Dean in a way that makes him want to scrub himself clean. “Castiel, you’ve been busy.”

“I’m sorry I left,” Cas starts, sounding solemn. “I’m sure you understand the reason now…”

“I’m not sure I do.” Michael pats Cas’ shoulder before releasing him. “But all that matters to me is that you’re back. You can explain everything else to me once you and your husband are settled in. Just let me take care of it, and then we can meet at my office to discuss the next steps.”

“Next steps?” Cas stutters.

Michael arches one douchey eyebrow at him. “Of course. We’re going to find a way for you to give back to this community, so you can earn everyone’s forgiveness. And I’m going to do something I should have done much, much earlier.”

“And what would that be?” Cas asks, barely hiding the suspicion in his voice.

“Training you, Castiel,” Michael says, very matter of fact, “training you as my right-hand man.”

Cas looks like he’s about to puke.

*

When Michael mentioned settling in, he actually meant making themselves at home in a house that looks like it came from an outdoor magazine.

“Your brother just… gave us a house?” Dean blinks, probably looking as confused as he feels. He’s already finished unloading their bags from the Impala while he gave Cas time to talk to Michael. From the way Cas is grumbling, Dean doesn’t know if that conversation actually went well.

“Yes. We’re married, remember? It’s the proper way to do things,” Cas snorts, “Michael wants me to take on more responsibility, so he can train me to be his right-hand man.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like the mafia at all,” Dean jokes, but Cas doesn’t laugh. He walks past Dean and towards the house without another word, looking determined and tense. Dean follows after, grumbling about carrying their bags.

Once inside, Dean is pleasantly surprised. The house resembles a medium-sized cottage, walls painted a creamy yellow, with a big living room and an open concept kitchen. The cabinets are painted a soft blue, and the couch is white and looks big enough to fit both of them, and much better quality than the ones he usually sees at motels. Dean feels almost guilty when he realizes that this is, in fact, a really nice home. It’s nice, tidy and just looks… inviting. He’ll keep his guard up, but that doesn’t mean he hates the idea of sleeping in a decent bed.

He walks down the hallway to see the rest of the place, pausing to check the bathroom, which is also nice, if a little small. The next stop on the tour includes the only bedroom in the house and that’s when Dean has to stop and do a double-take, because there’s. Only one bed. _Fuck_. They really didn’t think this through, huh.

He’s about to make a remark about it when Cas sits on the bed, looking dejected and sad with his shoulders slumped. They came to this place all battle-ready, Dean realizes. Cas was expecting a confrontation that never came and now he has to keep up appearances and pretend that he’s going to be what Michael wants him to be. That can’t be easy.

“Hey,” Dean says softly, sitting next to Cas on the edge of the bed, hesitantly resting a hand on his thigh. “We’ve got this.”

“I don’t feel like I’ve got this, Dean.”

“I know you feel like that right now,” Dean says. “But we’ve got a game plan: you snoop around a little, I play nice and keep an eye out and once we find out what’s going on, we get it done and then you’ll never have to come back here, Cas.”

Cas snorts, but relaxes considerably. “It sounds so easy when you put it like that.”

Without noticing, Dean has started tracing circles on top of Cas’ thigh, just trying to be comforting. Cas seems to melt into his touch, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean freezes but doesn’t make any sudden movements. He didn’t expect he’d get to be this close again to Cas, but he’s willing to be whatever Cas needs in order to survive this whole shitfest without losing his head.

He presses a kiss to Cas’ hair, which makes him straighten up and look at Dean with an adorably confused stare. Heart beating fast, Dean leans in for a kiss, and when Cas doesn’t object to it, Dean slides his tongue right in, licking into Cas’ hot mouth.

Not a word comes out of Cas, just a small and pleased humming noise. Next thing they know, Dean is being pressed into the mattress and Cas is nudging a thick thigh between Dean’s legs, pressing him against the bed. There’s still tension in him, his back is stiff and his kisses feel a little bit off, but Dean lets him take charge. He runs a hand up and down Cas’ wide back, nosing at his jaw gently. “Just relax,” Dean whispers.

Cas stares at him, a pensive look in his eyes. Almost as if he were evaluating Dean’s words, calculating if Dean really means them. Then he’s leaning for another kiss, but this time, it’s hungrier and messier and it lights Dean on fire.

Dean’s missed him so much he can feel it all the way to his bones, a longing that threatens to swallow him whole if he’s not cautious, if he doesn’t keep his heart carefully folded away from Cas’ fire. But touching him again, being allowed to feel this close to him again, feels like taking a fresh breath of air after drowning.

They kiss for a long while, lips sliding together to make up for the lost time until Dean’s hunger gets the better of him. “Let me suck you off,” he rasps, making a soft humming noise when Cas kisses the corner of his mouth.

Cas pulls back to look at him, blue eyes searching in the low light. The curtains are closed and the room is quiet and dark, the tense silence only broken by the sounds of their breathing.

“Are you sure?” Cas asks, with this shuttered look that Dean hates because it means Cas is going full Vulcan on him. That he’s keeping himself away from Dean willingly, regressing back into a virtual stranger, like he’s that suitcase from Pulp Fiction, full of shiny mysteries that Dean isn’t allowed to unpack.

“Yeah,” Dean says, unable to conceal how much he _wants_. “Take off your clothes, c’mon.”

Cas tuts, looking smug instead of distant, which is a vast improvement. He takes off his shirt, avoiding Dean’s grabby hands. “Don’t be so needy.”

It’s clearly a joke, but it hits Dean straight in the chest. _Don’t be so needy._

Fact is, Dean _is_ a needy bastard. This is more about Dean desperately wanting to be with Cas than about comforting him. He allows Cas to pull his shirt off between heated kisses, to pull down Dean’s pants as his hands roam everywhere, his touch almost hot enough to brand him. He kneels between Cas spread legs, in a parody of the first time they had sex. Part of Dean almost wishes that they were back to that first shitty motel room, bloody and dirty, without any sort of knowledge about each other’s bodies. Before Dean knew how it felt to sleep with his back pressed to Cas’ chest, and the frumpy look of Cas’ crazy bedhead in the mornings.

He rests his hands on top of Cas’ hairy thighs, just running his hands over them, feeling the warmth of his skin. Cas’ breathing seems to stutter when Dean leans down to kiss the tip of his cock, and Dean looks up at him with a smirk. “Blast from the past, uh?”

_“Dean”_ , Cas practically whines. “I’ve had a long day, don’t you dare tease me.”

“And what if I want to tease you, uh?” Dean grins, barely licking a bead of precome from Cas’ quickly-hardening cock. “What if I wanna take my time with you?”

“Don’t be a brat,” Cas growls, burying his fingers in Dean’s hair, pulling Dean’s head closer to his cock. Dean huffs, pretending to be offended, but he’s having a way too much fun riling Cas up. He swallows his cock quickly, his eyes fixed on Cas’ face, secretly pleased that he still remembers all the tricks that make Cas shudder and moan, all the ways he can make Cas pull at his hair so hard that Dean ends up letting him fuck his face, allowing Cas’ grip on him to guide him. He bobs his head up and down as Cas pushes into his mouth greedily, feeling _full_ for the first time since he left.

Spit dribbles down his chin, Cas choking him on his cock and barely allowing time to breathe. Dean makes a pitiful humming noise, almost overwhelmed by how good it feels to be used like that, eyes locking again with Cas.

Suddenly, Cas pulls back, face flushed and sweaty hair plastered to his forehead. “Get up. Get on the bed, on your knees.”

Dean does as told, still trying to catch his breath, hands, and knees on the bed, listening as Cas grumbles and fumbles around for the lube. Heart beating wildly inside his chest. He knows he’s putting himself in a vulnerable position, but Dean’s never had the best judgment whenever he feels so intensely for someone. It’s like he’s hard wired to crash and burn.

But then, Cas’ fingers are sliding inside of him and that’s all Dean can think about. Everything else fades away as Dean enjoys the weight of Cas against his back, the way Cas knows how to twist his fingers just _right_ when he wants to make him scream. How stretched out he feels around Cas’ cock once he pushes in, immediately setting a brutal pace, letting out all of his desperation on Dean’s willing body, until his legs are shaking with the need to come and he’s burying his face in the comforter, pressing loud, pitiful sounds against the fabric, ass up in the air, Cas’ big hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise.

Dean comes with a punched out moan, clenching so tight and so viciously around Cas, that he follows soon after, dropping like a particularly heavy sack of potato on top of Dean’s body. His legs are still holding him up, somehow, and Dean stays very still for a moment, trying to get his brain online.  
“Jesus fucking christ,” Dean groans. His muscles feel like they’re on fire, like Dean just finished the most brutal workout routine ever. Not even Jane Fonda would be able to match that amount of power.

“It offends,” Cas says, still panting. “That he’s the one getting all the credit.”

“Shut up, you loser,” Dean groans. “Don’t ruin the sexy post-coital mood.”

“You’re the one that invoked the name of the lord in vain,” Cas snorts, finally pulling out so he can lay next to Dean, covering his face with an arm. Dean longs to cuddle up to his side, to use Cas’ firm stomach as a pillow, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to do that, and he’s too afraid of rejection.

“Do you feel better?” Dean asks.

Cas sighs. “Who doesn’t feel better after an orgasm?”

“You know I’m not talking about that.”

Cas is still covering his face when he answers. “I’m… I feel less anxious. But I’m nervous. And you know what’s funny?”

“Mm?”

“I think… I’m more terrified of seeing Anael than whatever may happen here.”

“Why is that?” Dean asks, without pushing. He has enough idea of where this is going, but he doesn’t want to force Cas to open up to him. This is kind of a rare opportunity.

“Because I left her behind,” Cas says, sounding full of self-loathing. “I let her down.”

“Cas, it wasn’t your fault.” Dean breathes deeply, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling instead. “It was a shitty situation, man.”

“If you had been in my place, would you have been able to leave your brother behind?”

The mere idea of leaving Sam behind makes him dizzy. Dean would’ve done his best to make sure that if anyone had a chance to run away from a shitty situation, it would be Sam. No questions asked. That’s why he risked his old man having a stroke by giving his savings to Sam so he could go to Stanford.

But his silence gives everything Cas wanted to torture himself more. “I thought,” he says, the smile on his face bitter and sad.

They don’t speak for the rest of the night.

*

Dean wakes up to the first rays of sunshine, a gentle breeze coming through the window, feeling pleasantly sore if sticky with sweat. He’s pressed to Cas’ side, his nose smushed against Cas’ shoulder, sheets kicked away at the end of the bed. They’re still naked, because Dean didn’t really want to bother with clothes after a hasty cleanup and Cas just passed out.

It’s a beautiful sunny morning, and the light blue walls of their bedroom seem to mock Dean, trying to coax him into feelings of normalcy and contentedness. If Dean closed his eyes and stayed in bed, he could almost pretend that they’re a normal couple having a normal morning; but wanting things that he’s not allowed to have is what got Dean into this mess in the first place.

Mournfully, Dean leaves the bed and looks for a bathrobe he saw in the bathroom when he was scoping the place yesterday, so he can start getting breakfast ready. When they entered the compound the day before, one of the first things Dean noticed was the freakishly long giant picnic tables that they probably use for communal meals, but Dean has a feeling that they aren’t used every day, so he’s just going to stick to their kitchen and… yeah, it’s completely stocked, which freaks him out a lot because they weren’t expected to be back at the compound but this damn house still has everything they’d need for it to be livable.

There are eggs and cheese in the fridge, along with some other basic items and an assortment of random groceries in the pantry. Dean picks the first items and gets to work, pretty sure that he can make something decent. By the time Cas comes in, looking half-dead on his feet, hair sticking up everywhere, Dean’s finished with the eggs and has just prepared a fresh pot of coffee.

“Morning sunshine,” Dean smiles, pouring some coffee for Cas into the biggest mug he found. Cas grumbles, taking a seat at the kitchen nook, and accepting his coffee with an unintelligible noise.

“You’re too cheery,” Cas grunts. “Nobody should be legally allowed to be a morning person.”

“Says who,” Dean snorts, also pouring himself a cup of coffee. He wants to mention that Cas looks pretty grumpy for someone who got a really good blowjob last night but refrains from doing so. They haven’t talked about the whole… sleeping-together-again thing, and Dean isn’t sure if he should be the one to bring it up. Still, there’s something about how soft Cas looks in the mornings… how sweet he is when he’s grumpy and sleep-rumpled… it forces Dean to entertain the possibility of asking Cas if maybe, after this entire mess is over, they could try to go back to what they were (or maybe, become something _better_ ).

There’s a knock on the door that abruptly pulls Dean out of his ridiculous headspace, and Cas immediately starts looking more awake. “Stay there,” Cas says carefully going to the door. Dean has a kitchen knife right next to him.

When Cas opens the door, a redheaded-hurricane barrels in, stomping around and pissed off as hell. Cas lowers his guard, body language immediately changing, shoulders slumping in that way that makes Dean want to drop everything and focus on comforting him.

“Castiel,” the woman hisses. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not now, Anael. And not— not _here_.”

“You’re right,” Anael purses her lips, then focusing her hazel eyes on Dean. In a second, she goes from frowning and pouting to smirking. “So. You’re the husband.”

“Anael,” Cas warns.

“What? You didn’t even introduce us!” Anael huffs, turning back to Dean and offering him her hand. “Anael Milton, Castiel’s younger and much less grumpy sister.”

Under Cas’ annoyed glare, Dean lets out a chuckle. “Dean Winchester. Cas has told me a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I suppose!”

“Anael, stop being annoying,” Cas grumbles. “Get to the point, we’re wasting time here.”

“Only you, Castiel, tell the sister that you haven’t seen in almost two years that she’s wasting your time,” she rolls her eyes, and this time, Cas actually looks remorseful. Dean feels for him, knowing that he never meant to leave her behind.

“I can give you a minute,” he offers, thinking that they may need some privacy. Dean can’t help but put himself in Cas’ place and think about Sam. It would have killed Dean to leave him behind.

“Oh, no, you should take part in this conversation, Dean,” Anael says, “it’s just that…”

“We can’t talk here,” Cas finishes. Anael points at the door, looking annoyed. “Michael could burst in here any minute, you know how nosy he can be.”

“We could meet up later,” Dean suggests.

“After dinner, sure,” Anael agrees, sending Cas a significant look. “Next to the mill. Our usual place.”

“Got it,” Cas says and then, after a beat, his face softens, and he’s wrapping her tiny frame in his arms, sinking into a heartfelt embrace. “I did miss you, Anael.”

“Me too,” Anael’s voice comes muffled, her face pressed against Cas’ shoulder. “I’m not angry at you, Castiel.”

“You should be,” Castiel says, sounding sad. Anael only shakes her head before letting him go.

“Okay. I’ll be seeing you two tonight. Behave until then,” she smiles one last time before leaving, closing the door with a soft click.

“She seems nice.”

“She’s a nightmare,” Cas huffs.

“Younger siblings are genetically predisposed to be nightmares, Cas,” Dean jokes, feeling warm when Cas actually smiles at him. He just wants to see Cas smile more. “Breakfast?”

“Please,” Cas grunts, picking up his lukewarm coffee from the table.

They’ve got a lot to do.

*

After breakfast, Cas stalks off to take on his role as Michael’s assistant and leaves Dean alone to wander around the settlement. Out in the sunny morning, Dean decides to use his time alone to explore his surroundings. The small community is nestled between the mountains, a tiny valley surrounded by trees and flowers, close to a river bed. The landscape looks almost idyllic, and Dean can’t help but think that the choice to settle _here_ was appropriate. The rustic wood cabins, the stone paths, the children running around and playing tag… it looks like a scene from a fairytale book.

People litter around the place, appearing to be content, completing daily, mundane tasks like laundry and chopping wood. Some of them look at Dean curiously, but most seem to be minding their own business. A couple of cats lay sunbathing on the grass, and one of them even tries to sniff Dean before he shoos it away.

There’s an old lady standing in front of one of the cabins, frowning at her front steps with a grumpy face. If things could be fixed by sheer determination and the power of annoyance, she’d have already solved her problem. One of the steps has a small hole in it, Dean notices, and a humble case of tools rests next to the lady’s feet.

The woman looks impatiently between the damaged stairs and the case of tools. “Can’t trust that kid for anything, not even for a small gig,” she sighs loudly, shaking her head. Then she glances around, her eyes landing on him, and Dean knows he’s been spotted. Better put on a charming face. Ladies love his dimples.

“Good morning,” he grins as he walks over her. “I noticed you were having some trouble. Want some help?”

The woman squints suspiciously at him at first, probably because she’s never seen him before, assessing him. She gives up quickly, though, looking too annoyed with her damn hammer. “You look like you're good with your hands," she says, and basically shoves Dean at the stairs, then takes a seat on a stool right next to the fence. Looks like she’s going to be supervising him while he works.

“My name is Muriel. I haven’t seen you before.”

“I'm Dean. I’m new here,” Dean crouches in front of the steps, taking stock of the materials available. “Was someone supposed to help you with this?”

“Yes,” she huffs, a grumpy scowl on her face. “My grandson promised to do it for me, but he didn’t show up. I know he’s been busy, but some warning would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Dean says, and he means it. She looks tired. Luckily, the problem with the steps looks like a quick, easy fix. “Is this a busy season or something?”

“Or something,” Muriel snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ve got fewer people than ever before and barely any new people showing up. Michael’s been running us ragged. It’s hard work and I don’t want to complain, don’t get me wrong, but this is exhausting.”

“Hmmm,” Dean hums as he works, a particular thing she’s said keeps getting stuck in his mind. “What do you mean there’s fewer people?”

“Well,” Muriel says, looking surprised. “Didn’t your sponsor explain that to you?”

“Uh? Sponsor?” Dean blinks. Then he remembers Cas asked him to pretend to be his husband, and he flushes right up to the tip of his ears. “You mean my husband?”

“Oh! You’re Castiel’s boy. Right, right,” she nods approvingly, as if Castiel were there to see her approve of his choices. “That boy. So scatterbrained!”

Dean snorts. Castiel is the complete opposite of scatterbrained. He’s more… thoughtless than easily distracted if it comes to that. “Dear ol’ honey buns, always with his head up in the clouds. That’s him,” he quips.

“Ah, young love. I remember that” she smiles, “how lovely.”

Dean flushes, caught a little off guard by the sentiment, clearing his throat once he recovers. “Anyway, what were you saying about...?”

“Oh, dear. Yes, yes. Well, the thing is, there’s been a lot of ascensions this year.”

“Uhhh, you’ve lost me,” Dean’s almost done with the steps at this point. He’s glad this lady is so chatty, because he’s starting to feel like Cas just threw him to the wolves when he brought him here.

“We ascend once we’re ready to answer Heaven’s call, of course! We’re angels in waiting, but the only one who can talk to God is Michael. That’s why he leads us, bless his heart. He shares with us the word of God every morning, and tells us when one of us has been called.”

“So, when you ascend… you… go to Heaven?” Dean raises a very skeptical eyebrow, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Of course, you silly boy. Where else?”

“And you never see them again? The people who go to Heaven?”

“No, not until it’s your time, too. I’ve been looking forward to it, personally,” she whispers, looking softer, even sounding awed. “I can’t wait to see my husband again. He was called five years ago. Michael guided him to the forest after we said our goodbyes. He was wearing his favorite tunic, the one I sewed for him before our wedding.”

Her eyes shine as she smiles, and the hope Dean sees there makes her look younger. Something sinks in his stomach, but he manages a trembling smile for her. There’s something there. Something that isn’t right, and Dean absolutely hates the feeling in his gut.

Having finished with the steps, Dean puts his weight on them to see if they’re good. Once satisfied, and still buzzing with a simmering feeling of dread, he puts Muriel’s tools back in the case and shoots her a cocky smile.

“Well, Muriel. You won’t need your lazy grandson’s services anymore.”

*

The few hours he was alone, Dean didn’t do much except get an allergic reaction every time a cat got near him and from what he’s gathered, nobody knows why but, according to another chatty lady, the place has always been filled with cats. They come and go as they please, pick favorite spots for sun-warming, and get fed by the entire community, something that Michael encourages because of… freedom and nature. Something. A bunch of hippie shit, probably. Dean doesn’t want to know why the raging religious fanatic is also, apparently, a cat person.

Cas arrives back at the house when Dean is busy cooking dinner. He raided their (suspiciously well-stocked) pantry and found everything he needed to make a mean mac and cheese. Now, the kitchen is warm and smells of food, and Dean feels a little bummed because _none of this is real_ , Cas’ brother is some weird religious fanatic, people are disappearing and probably being lied to and Dean is stuck in the middle of this entire goddamn mess playing happy family with the guy who fucked him for months only to ditch him without a second of hesitation.

(Because Cas did, didn’t he? He didn’t hesitate. Dean bared himself to him, gave himself to him that night. And the next morning Cas was all packed and ready to go. He wasn’t even going to say goodbye.)

“Smells nice,” Cas grunts, then hovers a little awkwardly in front of the dining table, like he’s wondering if he should be helping with something. Finally, he seems to snap out of it a little and walks over to the kitchen to set the table. “You didn’t have to cook.”

“I wanted to,” Dean shrugs, getting the food out of the oven. “I like cooking.”

Dean doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t tell Cas that he’s perpetually disappointed that life on the road is so incompatible with an accessible kitchen most of the time. He doesn’t tell him about all the recipes he learned and collected as a teenager, eager to feed and please his family for a little bit of praise. It’s too embarrassing.

“Nevertheless,” Cas smiles, finally, the corners of his mouth barely quirking up. _Fuck_ , Dean’s missed that smile. “Thank you, Dean. This looks great and I’m starving, I-- It’s been a long day.”

“Your brother riding your ass too hard?” Dean asks, taking a seat right in front of him.

Cas glares so hard his eyes look like tiny slits. “Please don’t say that ever again.”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles between mouthfuls of cheese. “You find anything today?”

“No, just the same things I was suspicious about before I made up my mind and left,” Cas frowns, pausing for a moment so he can eat a little. “Though I do have access to the main house’s library, now.”

“That’s good. We’re going to need that for research,” Dean points out. “Also. Uhhh, I was checking out the joint today and I talked to a lady about, y’know. The disappearances.”

“More people are starting to notice, then. Good,” Cas says, absent-mindedly. “What did you think about it? The _Ascension_ is something Michael has been preaching about since before I was born. I used to believe in it. I believed in _him_ , and this wonderful idea that here, in this valley, hid the last sons of God, waiting for our Father’s call to spread our wings, become angels and join him in eternal peace.”

Cas’ face falls, and he looks absolutely crestfallen. “That’s what happened to my parents. They were called, and we never saw them again. Michael raised us, because that’s what he promised them. Until we could be reunited in Heaven as a family…”

“But?” Dean asks, subtly. His foot nudges Cas’ under the table and he’s dying to hold Cas’ hand, to offer some semblance of comfort. But it’s not his place anymore. Cas made it clear when he left.

“But… Anael started having these _doubts_. She started rebelling against everything Michael believed in, and convinced me to look past Michael’s beautiful promises of paradise. She kept saying that something wasn’t _right_.”

“I mean, it’s obvious that your brother’s got everyone here duped, but… what the hell is he doing with these people? Because, yeah, I’m not buying that corny nonsense of going to heaven to play the harp among fluffy clouds.”

“Well,” Cas says, looking grim and exhausted. “That’s why we’re here, Dean.”

The rest of their dinner is silent, thick with tension and unanswered questions, both of them looking equally lost in thought. Once they’re done, Cas insists on washing the dishes before going out to meet Anael and Ruby, and Dean figures that Cas could use the alone time to compose himself before seeing his sister again.

The mill sits between the river and a small barn that’s seen better days and now looks ready to fall apart. As soon as they step inside, Dean starts sneezing. His eyes feel watery and his nose is itchy and yeah, once he hears a loud meow, Dean turns to see the culprit. The barn looks like a cat speakeasy if cats were paws deep in contraband. There are so many that Dean can’t count them, and it’s not the first time he’s noticed them. His eyes started to water as soon as he crossed the gates the day before.

He sneezes. Cas raises his eyebrows at him and Dean shrugs, wishing he had some paper tissues. Fucking cats.

Finally, after he’s sure that his nostrils are about to fall off his face, Anael shows up, followed by her girlfriend. Ruby is a grumpy looking brunette with perfect eyebrows and what looks like a permanent pout. She’s wearing the same shapeless, plain tunic as Anael, but hers is a soft pink. It doesn’t suit her at all.

“Hello,” Anael smiles, her smile looking out of place among so many annoyed bastards. “Fancy meeting you here, gentlemen.”

“About time,” Cas mutters.

“Hush, Castiel,” Anael frowns. “Remember that Ruby and I can’t be seen together. I don’t want Michael to put me in ‘time out’ again.”

Dean frowns, confused. “Why can’t you guys be together?”

“Douchenozzle Mike wants her to marry some shitty dickbag friend of his and pop some babies,” Ruby explains, obviously trying to sound bored. She’s too pissed to achieve her goal.

“Huh. He didn’t say anything about me and Cas.”

“I was surprised too,” Cas says, throwing an apologetic look at her sister. “I’m sorry, Anael.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugs. “Not everything is your fault, Castiel.”

Ruby looks even poutier when she talks again. “There must be a reason he isn’t yammering about Castiel finding a nice woman and procreating.”

“He’s planning something,” Cas says carefully, “or he wants something.”

“Or both,” Anael says, “Michael never does anything without a reason, and he has a vested interest in making the community grow. If he didn’t protest you being with Dean, then it’s because something about your situation can be beneficial to him.”

Then she grabs her girlfriend’s hand before speaking again, but her eyes are fixed on Cas. “Castiel, it’s… a week before you left, before we tried to run… Do you remember? Samandriel’s ascension? I was sneaking out of the house that night, to meet with Ruby. We were going to look over the plan and hide more supplies for the trip. I had to cross the path that leads to the forest, so I could hide between the trees. And then… I heard him. I heard Samandriel. He was _screaming_. He was in pain. It was gut-wrenching.”

“Jesus,” Cas hisses, looking sickly pale under the moonlight, completely horrified. “ _Jesus_ , Anael…”

“What is he doing?” Anael asks, but it’s not a question for any of them. “What is he going to do to us?”

*

Over the next couple of weeks, Dean becomes increasingly frustrated with how slow their research is going. Cas is constantly being pulled away to work with Michael, leaving Dean to try to put together a handful of puzzle pieces that he can barely connect while also juggling tasks as exhausting as sowing potatoes (and his back is killing him for that, thank you). It doesn't help that Michael often requires Cas' help at night after Dean is done with his "duties" or whatever. It's like he and Cas are working opposite shifts.

Every once in a while, they get the chance to share a meal or have a quick moment alone together, and Dean cherishes those more than he should. Even when they're just discussing possible theories and small clues they've noticed, he's happy to just spend time with Cas. They're not moving forward with the case, unfortunately, but at least Dean is still able to try to make Cas chuckle at a dumb joke or force him to try something new Dean made for dinner.

(And those are the most dangerous moments, too. The moments where Dean forgets himself and plays footsie with Cas under the table, knowing that no one is there to look at them, that they don’t have to pretend to be in love. Dean’s always left feeling hollow, afterward, trying to put himself back together, putting a lid on whatever crazy idea he gets of Cas feeling the same as him.)

Their big break comes when Michael grants Cas permission to begin going into the settlement's library to clean it up and learn more about its history. They figure out a time when Dean can sneak away from his duties to help Cas comb through the material.

Cas’ childhood home is the most ostentatious house around. It was built with the same materials as the rest of the houses, but it’s bigger and sturdier, like a rustic-style mansion. More befitting of what a leader is supposed to have. Cas guides him into the library, hoping to find documents detailing the settlement’s demographics.

“The library is huge,” Cas warns him. “We may not find things easily, but we should start by looking into archival materials. And you need to remember that we’re on a time limit. Michael will be back around two in the afternoon, so we only have three hours to look around today.”

The room is dusty enough to kickstart Dean’s allergies again, something that doesn’t surprise him at all when he spots the small calico cat sleeping under a chair in the corner next to the biggest bookcase.

“Fucking cats,” Dean grumbles before sneezing loudly. She seems to hear him, by the way her ears flicker, then she rolls on her back, exposing her belly and throwing a wide-eyed look at him.

“Cool it, Grizabella.”

“Stop arguing with the cat and help me, Dean.”

They go through multiple books, trying to find anything that may give them some hints, from the Bible to old angelology books. They consider and discard so many theories that frustration begins to seep in quickly.

“Your brother has a fuckton of useless books,” Dean whines, letting himself fall into a comfy armchair. Sadly, he miscalculates and ends up falling on his ass, right on top of some boxes that were stacked up next to the chair. Cas laughs so hard that he starts wheezing, and Dean sends him a murder glare. “Stop laughing at me and come help me, you asshole. Fucking boxes…”

Cas walks over to him, doing a very poor job at hiding his laughter, offering Dean a hand to help him stand up. Dean grabs it and Cas pulls him towards him, so they end up standing so close that their chests are pressing together. Cas’ face is so close that Dean could kiss him if he wanted to, and he loses himself in Cas’ blue eyes.

“Dean.”

“Yeah…”

“Dean, get out of the way,” Cas gently pushes him aside, snapping him out of it. He kneels between the boxes that Dean knocked down, picking something that fell out. It’s an old picture in black and white.

“That’s impossible,” Cas mutters. There’s shock in his voice, and Dean crouches next to him to see the picture. It looks considerably old, judging from the clothes the people in the picture are wearing, and when Cas flips the picture, he finds a handwritten note. _Angel Valley_ , 1879. But the most important thing is--

“That’s Michael,” Cas whispers, pointing at the man standing front and center. “That’s _Michael_.”

“What the fuck?” Dean hisses. The smug bastard looks the same as he looks now, just as young, like not a day has passed. “ _What_ is he?”

“I don’t know,” Cas mutters somberly. “But this only proves something I’ve always suspected,” he slips the picture inside his jacket, looking weary. “Michael isn’t my biological brother.”

Cas starts to put the boxes into place, while Dean moves onto the books they used when the library’s door opens and Michael comes strolling in. Speak of the devil.

“Castiel,” Michael smiles, all teeth and charisma. Dean hates it. “Hard at work, I see. That’s good, you’ve always been very dedicated.”

Cas huffs, immediately looking calm and collected. “Your organization skills leave a lot to be desired, Michael.”

“Well, that’s why I have you here now,” Michael tuts, then turns to look at Dean. His smile goes even wider, almost predatory, giving Dean a full once over again. “I see you’ve brought your husband.”

“Dean wanted to help,” Cas offers.

“I-- Yeah. Needed to make myself useful, y’know? Can’t have Cas doing all the work here.”

“I admire your dedication, Dean. I’ve heard very nice things about you,” Michael hums serenely and lowers his eyes a little, still looking at Dean. “Cas was right to bring you here, you’re a very bright soul and a great addition to our community. I look forward to seeing more of you.”

“Thanks,” Dean smiles through gritted teeth, unnerved by Michael’s wandering gaze. “Anyway, I’m stealing my husband away now. He promised to have lunch with me and I’m not myself when I’m hungry. Have a nice day!” He grabs Cas’ hand and drags him out of the library, trying not to seem too obvious. That was uncomfortable as fuck.

Once out in the open, and after putting as much distance as possible between them and Michael’s house, Dean finally lets himself breathe.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks. To Dean’s surprise, he reaches over and rests a hand on his cheek. Automatically, Dean leans into his touch, closing his eyes as he recovers his breath.

“Sorry,” Dean grunts, “Michael gives me the creeps.”

“After that? You’re not the only one,” Cas snorts, but there’s no humor in it. He grabs Dean’s sweaty hand again, and they start walking back to their cabin, saying hi to some people along the way. Dean goes red, overwhelmed by the reminder of their fake marriage. People keep telling them that they make a cute couple and asking things about their marriage, only making the longing in Dean’s chest grow wilder. But he isn’t supposed to think about that right now.

They go home and spend the afternoon on the couch, sitting on opposite corners. Dean hates the distance between them, longing to touch and comfort Cas, who’s been spooked since they left the library. He wants Cas to touch him back, to touch him the way a real husband would. He misses their intimacy.

They make list after list, naming all the creatures they can think of that live long lives and manage to stay young. The possibilities are far more numerous than Dean expected, and he’s starting to get the biggest headache of his life. He’s about to suggest a break when there’s a knock on the door, and Cas gets up from the couch to open it. Anael is standing in the doorframe, looking somber and more serious than Dean’s ever seen her since they met.

“It’s starting,” she says, voice thin.

“What’s starting?” Dean has a feeling that, whatever is starting, he’s not going to like it. Cas seems to catch on immediately. He grabs his jacket and puts it on quickly, strolling out the house and past his sister.

“Anael?” Dean asks. She shakes her head and beckons Dean to follow her. Outside, everyone is out. The sky is dark and littered with stars, mirroring the candles grasped in nearly every hand. There’s laughter and smiles all around. Some people carry flowers that they wave happily, as if saying goodbye. Everyone stops walking when they reach the edge of the forest, and Dean keeps looking at the crowd, trying to find Cas, until he’s right behind him, almost breathing in Dean's ear, a hand on Dean’s arm gripping tightly.

“Brothers and sisters of Angel Valley,” Michael’s booming voice distracts Dean from his own thoughts. He’s standing in front of the path that leads to the forest, Muriel by his side. Her pretty white dress makes her look like a bride, with her grey hair down in waves. She looks so happy it hurts to look at her. “Father has called for our dear sister Muriel, and she, like any upstanding member of our community, has decided to answer his call. Muriel will now be reunited with her husband and daughter in Heaven, achieving the eternal peace she rightfully deserves. Rejoice! Do not miss her! You will see her again!”

The crowd goes wild with thunderous applause, chanting _Rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice!_

“Cas,” Dean hisses, a surge of panic taking over his brain. “Cas, we can’t-- we should-- we need to stop this.”

“We can’t do that,” Cas whispers, gripping Dean’s arm tighter. “Not yet, Dean. We can’t do anything until we know what’s going on.”

“She doesn’t deserve this shit,” Dean swallows past the lump in his throat. “Cas, _please_.”

Muriel’s hopeful desire to see her husband, her happy tears, her joy. Everything about it makes Dean feel sick. Michael walks with her into the forest, disappearing between the trees until they can’t see anything and Dean doesn’t follow them because Cas stops him, tugging at his arm forcefully.

The crowd disperses and everyone goes back home, and the night goes quiet again.

Cas sighs, finally releasing Dean’s arm. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Cas,” he’s so angry he’s shaking. “We could have done something. We could have saved her!”

“And we would’ve fucked it all up, Dean!” Cas snaps at him. “You can’t save every person. You need to think about our end goal.”

“Right,” Dean spits. “Like you thought of the end goal when you ran away.”

_Like a coward_ goes unsaid.

“Get some sleep, Dean,” Cas’ eyes shutter quickly, face going cold, looking just the way he did the day he left Dean. And he does the same thing he did that time: he walks away.

Dean stands there for a long time, thinking about the people who have disappeared, about Muriel’s joyful smile, about the ones who, just like her, look forward to Heaven.

He wonders if John Winchester would have believed Michael’s lies when offered the promise of seeing his wife again and spending eternity with her. If he’d have walked into the forest, tears of joy on his face, ready to be happy again.

Numb and surrounded by a deafening silence, Dean goes back to the cabin.

*

Dean wakes up to an empty bed.

His nose is runny and itchy and his throat feels weird, so he’s just going to assume that a cat wandered in during the night. His theory is proven right when he finally opens his eyes and sees a black cat looking cozy on Cas’ unused pillow.

“Fucking cats,” Dean mutters, leaving the bed in order to look for Cas. His side of the bed hasn’t been touched (except for the sneaky cat) and he’s not in the kitchen when he goes there. There aren’t any dirty dishes, so Cas didn’t have any breakfast.

He didn’t come home last night.

Dean feels torn between being pissed and worrying, and since the latter is overwhelming, he focuses on the former. Unfortunately, the worry only intensifies after he steps outside to help a neighbor with his garden and he gets a glimpse of Cas, who’s trailing after Michael and looking busy as fuck. It happens multiple times throughout the day. Every time Dean tries to approach Cas, Michael calls for him or sends him on some shitty errand, and that’s only worsened by the way Cas keeps looking at him. He looks exhausted and apprehensive. Keeps throwing worried glances at him. Dean doesn’t know if it’s about their fight last night or if something else happened, and it’s making him so anxious he can’t even eat when it’s time for lunch.

By the time night falls and Cas isn’t around yet, Dean’s definitely less pissed than worried. He’s sitting on the porch of their cabin, nervously waiting for Cas to be back, so focused on seeing him that he doesn’t notice the figure approaching him at first. A second later, he’s turning in their direction, his hand going to the knife he keeps in his boot.

“You seem a little on edge.”

Of fucking course it’s fucking Michael.

_Play nice, Dean. Play nice._

“Long day,” he says, trying to look nonchalant. Michael hovers near him, looking at his lips with something that resembles hunger.

“Yes, I saw you working hard all day,” Michael’s lips curl into a smug smile, because the bastard never manages to look different. “I admire your dedication and how skillful you are, Dean. Your willingness to help others is outstanding. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Like me?”

“Someone so pure,” Michael subtly licks his lips, leaning closer. Dean’s practically fusing himself with the wall at this point. “Someone so good. You have such a bright soul, Dean. The brightest I’ve ever _seen_.”

“Thanks, bud,” Dean clenches his teeth, stepping away from Michael. “Do you mind? I have personal space issues. Really bad ones, you’re kind of ruining my vibe here.”

Michael opens his annoying mouth just as Cas joins them, carrying a jar of what appears to be honey in his hand.

“I thought you had already left for bed, Michael.”

“I changed my mind. I decided to talk to Dean. He looked lonely.”

“Not anymore!” Dean blurts out, walking down the steps to press a messy, wet kiss against Cas’ mouth, just to see if he can make Michael uncomfortable enough to leave. “Hey, babe.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas’ mouth twitches. He’s holding back a smile.

Michael is looking at them with a frown and his face is a little red with anger. _What the hell._

Cas fakes a yawn. “Well, I’m exhausted. Definitely time for bed. Night, Michael!”

He grabs Dean’s hand and drags him inside the house, closing the door behind him immediately. They stand there, right next to the door frame until they hear creaky steps, in a moment that feels like forever. After twenty minutes or so, Cas opens the door to check if Michael is still there, and closes it once he’s sure that he’s gone.

“Dean,” he says, looking terrified. “We need to talk.”

“Right,” Dean nods, almost dazed. “Let’s go to our room.”

They sit on the floor, right next to bed, closing the window after Dean is finished checking for any sneaky stray cats. Once it’s obvious they’re completely alone, Cas starts talking. 

“I went into the woods last night.”

“Shit, Cas,” Dean hisses at him, “what the hell, man?! Couldn’t you wait for me? You can’t take off without backup!”

“I know,” Cas grunts. “But you were upset and I needed to cool down and-- I took an alternative path, so I could try to follow Michael. There’s a clearing, in the center of the forest, and he… he… Muriel--”

“He what?” Dean asks, pushing past the cold feeling of dread sinking into him.

“He put his hand through her chest, and there was a light… and then she was dead. And Michael was eating… something.”

“Her heart?”

“There was no blood, Dean. None at all.”

“No blood. Light. Eating… Oh, shit. Shit shit shit fuck.”

“What?” Cas grabs his arm, squeezing. “Dean! Big boy words!”

“Michael said that I had a bright soul. Soul. He said he could see _it_ ,” Dean rambles, trying his best to organize his frantic thoughts. “Soul eater! He could be a soul eater or a kind of soul eater.”

“Jesus,” Cas drags his hand down his face. “What do we need.”

“I,” Dean says, voice shaky, “need to make a call.”

Their phones were taken away the moment they stepped into Angel Valley because Michael despises modern technology (of course), but Dean managed to hide one of his spare burner phones inside his underwear bag. He makes the call with Cas plastered to his side, silent and expectant as the phone rings once, twice--

“Hello?”

Dean hasn’t heard that voice in a good while. “Bobby.”

“Dean?” Bobby’s gruff voice answers, genuinely surprised. “Boy, what the hell? I haven’t heard from you in years! Do I look like a ditchable prom date to you?”

Cas squints at him, head tilted to the side with a question, and Dean rolls his eyes, fondly exasperated. “You’d be the prettiest girl at the ball, Bobby.”

“Keep up the sass and I’m going to hang up on you.”

“No! Geez, Bobby. Delicate, much? I’m in the middle of an emergency here.”

“All right,” Bobby huffs grumpily. “What’s going on?”

Dean tells him everything they’ve been able to piece together, and the theory they came up with before calling. Bobby listens, making grumpy sounds and keeps them hanging more than once as he disappears into his own vast library to search for lore.

Three hours later, the old man finally grants them the power of his wisdom. “Sounds like you’re dealing with Ammit. You know, big cat? Weighs and eats souls?”

“Big… cat?”

“It’s a minor Egyptian deity. Ammit was in charge of weighing souls. If the souls were found to be guilty, they’d devour them as punishment.”

“Wait, you said… big cat?”

“That’s all you got from this, you idjit?”

“No, Bobby,” Dean laughs, on the edge of losing his goddamn mind. “This place is plagued with _fucking_ cats.”

“Yeah well, there’s your confirmation.”

“Son of a bitch. A minor fucking deity. What the actual fuck.”

“Listen, Dean,” Bobby snaps him out of his upcoming panic attack. “You’re gonna need a stake. But not any stake. You need to make one out of a native tree from the deity’s place of origin. Where are you?”

“Northern California, man.”

“You’re lucky, boy. Find a cypress.”

“Gotcha, I saw some of those bad boys on the edge of the forest. Anything else?”

“Coat the stake in the blood of someone worthy.”

“... How am I supposed to know who’s worthy and who isn’t?”

“Do I look like I know?” Bobby grumbles.

What a goddamn trainfuck of a mess.

Dean sighs. “Thanks, Bobby. You saved my ass.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be careful,” he says gruffly, “and call me as soon as you wrap up the hunt, ya hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I ain’t your dad, Dean.”

Dean ends the call with an exasperated sigh. “Okay. The blood of someone worthy. What do we need, a virgin?”

“Ammit judges souls, right?” Cas asks, out of the blue, eyes intensely focused on Dean when he looks at him, making him squirm.

“Yeah, that’s what Bobby said.”

“And Michael said that he’s never seen a soul as bright as yours.”

“Well… yes. But I don’t know if he was trying to get into my pants or trying to get himself a light snack.”

“Dean… I don’t think Michael was lying about your soul. I think he covets it, precisely because it’s so bright and good. Because you’re someone _worthy_.”

“Cas… hell, no,” Dean laughs nervously. “No, man. I’m not worthy at all. You’re the worthy one! Look at everything you’re doing to help these people!”

“Yeah,” Cas snorts. “Only after I ran away like a coward for almost two years.”

“Cas, you’re only human. I’m sorry about what I said the other night, I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that, man.”

Cas shakes his head, suddenly looking so sad that Dean can’t bear to look at him. But Cas’ hand goes to his chin, tipping Dean’s head so he’s forced to look back at him.

“You’re a righteous man, Dean Winchester. And I can’t see souls, but I have no doubt that you have the brightest soul I’ve ever known.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” to Dean’s very own horror, his eyes are starting to tear up. “I’m not worthy.”

Cas frowns. He lets go of Dean’s chin, touching his cheek softly. Tenderly. With affection that feels so genuine, it makes Dean’s head spin. “Why do you say that?”

“Because…” Dean swallows past the heavy lump stuck in his throat, tears finally falling on his face. “Everyone leaves me. I drive everyone away. I’m not worth anyone’s time. I’m not worth anything at all. Just some guy with a GED and a give ‘em hell attitude.”

“Dean, you’re so much more than that,” Cas pleads.

“Then why did you leave me?” Dean sobs angrily. “I was alone before you showed up and ruined me for every other person. I thought we were getting somewhere. I thought we were going to _become_ something, but clearly, I wasn't worth sticking around for, so you cut your losses and left.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas laments, pulling him into his lap, just the way Dean loves, and holding him against his chest. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay.” _You hurt me_.

“I didn’t leave because of you, Dean. I left because I was convinced that I should solve this mess on my own. That Michael was my responsibility and I needed to atone for running away and leaving Anael behind,” Cas kisses his cheek. “But I got scared, and I ran away again. And then it became clear that I needed to trust you and ask for your help. And…”

Cas hesitates a little before leaning closer and kissing Dean’s lips softly, slowly but deeply. Dean closes his eyes and it feels like the entire world stops. It’s the gentlest, more intense kiss he’s ever received.

“And?” Dean asks, once they part for air, foreheads pressed together.

“And I was scared of how I felt about you.” Cas holds him. His hands are shaking. His heart is racing like a hummingbird against Dean’s own chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone the way I love you, Dean.”

_Oh._

“Cas,” Dean cradles Cas’ head in his hands. “Cas, I need you. I need you so goddamn much.”

“I’m here, Dean,” Cas goes for another kiss, shorter this time. “I’m here. You’re never going to be alone again.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

*

How do you set a trap for some overpowered ancient cat hungry for soul catnip?

Well, the answer starts with using Dean as bait. Cas doesn’t seem to agree with this part of the plan, but it’s all they’ve got at the moment. Once they get their stake ready, they wait another day so they can avoid looking suspicious, and then Cas sneaks Dean into Michael’s study late at night, where Dean will play the role of tasty snack. He guesses.

Yeah, it’s not his most brilliant plan.

Michael looks infinitely pleased when he opens the door to his office and finds Dean there.

“Dean, what a surprise,” he smiles politely. Dean’s betting his perky nipples that Michael is currently holding back his kitty instinct to pounce on his prey. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“Y’know. Just passing by. Thought we could chat a little, wanted to know more about you. You’re my brother-in-law, after all.”

“Mmm, what would you like to know?” Michael hums, looking more interested than ever.

“Well, for starters,” Dean rests his elbows on Michael’s desk, grinning. “How old are you?”

Michael arches a perfectly skeptic eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?”

“I told you. To get to know you better. You seem like a great guy.”

“I can tell that you’re lying, Dean,” Michael smiles again, and this time it’s more sinister. More authentic. He closes the door behind him and Dean immediately knows that Michael knows something. “I can tell just by looking at your soul. You don’t want to be naughty, do you? You don’t want to taint it.”

“And why do you care so much about it?”

“You see, Dean. After a while, you get bored with the taste of sin. All the tainted souls taste the same. Putrid,” Michael snarls. “Pungent with sin, turning into ash right on your tongue. Disgusting.”

He’s pacing around his own office, getting closer to Dean. Stalking his prey. “But bright souls? Souls so pure they can’t be contaminated by evil? Once you try them, you can’t go back. They’ll keep you young. They’ll give you powers you can’t even imagine. And the taste? Well, that’s the best part.”

Ah, fuck. The gig is up.

Dean barely has time to throw a lamp at Michael when he jumps him, running to the door only to struggle with the lock. “Well, okay. Cas! Cas, it’s time!”

Michael jumps him again, and they’re wrestling on the floor when Cas kicks down the door and tries to pull him away from Dean. Michael throws him away as if he weighs nothing, and his eyes go feral at the sight of the stake, nails growing into claws in his hands, a twisted smile showing huge, menacing fangs. "I've gained the power to judge for myself, and I'm not going back,” he growls, and the room seems to shake with the power of his anger.

“I haven’t spent years hiding in this mediocre body and waving crosses in front of fools only for you to ruin everything!” Michael temporarily stops chasing after Dean to throw himself at Cas, who loses the stake in his attempt to roll away from him. Michael straddles him. His nails grow into strong, menacing claws and he drags them over Cas’ chest.

“You ungrateful little brat, I took you and your snotty sister in, your parents barely _fed_ me.”

“You fucking bastard,” Cas snarls, only to be silenced by a brutal swing.

“I’m going to get rid of you, like I should have after I ate your parents,” Michael hisses, raising his claws. Dean quickly looks around him for something, _anything_ he can use and finds a bible. He throws it at Michael’s head, then grabs the stake and stabs Michael in the back, right where his heart is. Michael releases a loud, nightmarish screech and transforms into a cloud of ashes, leaving Cas and Dean to stare at each other in the middle of the trashy office.

Cas looks down at his body, his clothes completed covered in ashes, and wrinkles his nose. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Noted.”

They limp away from the house, arms around each other’s waists, tense with exhaustion and leftover adrenaline. Anael and Ruby are waiting outside, holding hands.

“We heard a scream,” Anael says loudly, taking in their pitiful state. “Is he…”

“Yes,” Cas says, leaning heavily into Dean. He took one hell of a beating. “He's gone.”

“What…”

“He was eating souls. He wasn’t-- it’s complicated.”

“Heaven was never real,” Anael says, tears quickly falling down her face. “They weren’t going to Heaven.”

Cas smiles. It’s a bitter, sad thing. “No. They never were.”

*

Anael hugs him so hard it’s actually hard to breathe, Ruby at her looking surly as ever but less haunted than the first time he met them. It’s a huge relief for Dean when she finally seems to get the hint that his lungs aren’t made of steel, and she lets go of him, looking sheepish. She thanks him for everything, and Dean nearly answers, _For what? I didn’t do shit_. Not for the first time, Dean wonders about her decision to stay behind at the settlement and help with the relocation efforts. But it’s good to see her so happy, determined to protect the people that have been left adrift in the face of Michael’s deception, so he’s not going to rain on her parade. Instead, he wants to build a connection. Because she’s important to Cas and Cas is important to him.

“This is my number,” Dean hands her a strip of paper. “And that one is Cas’. Call us as soon as you get your own phone, got it?”

“Yes,” Anael smiles, still so grateful. She’s as earnest as Cas. “Thank you, Dean. We’ll call as soon as we can.”

“Good,” Dean grins at her. “Trust me, us older brothers always want to know everything. You’ll make Cas happy. You know how he gets when he worries.”

Anael rolls her eyes and Ruby snorts, but she’s looking at her girlfriend with a small smile. “This is why he has so many forehead wrinkles already.”

“True,” Dean snickers, giving her a friendly pat on her shoulder. “Go say goodbye to him while I make sure the car is ready.”

Dean takes his time to make sure that their bags are properly packed and stored in Baby’s trunk, and that everything is working well for their upcoming road trip. A stupid grin takes over his face when he thinks about him, Cas, and the freedom of the open roads. Almost a year ago, when he was nursing a broken heart after the Lee fiasco, Dean never imagined that he’d get to have this. That he’d get to have someone like Cas by his side. He thought he’d lead a lonely life that would end in a lonely death, that neither his brother nor father would care about it. That no one would care if Dean just disappeared.

But he’s been proven wrong now, and he’s never been happier about it. Last night, when they made the decision to move on to the next chapter, laying together on the bed they shared for almost a month, Dean had dared to be honest.

“I want you to stay with me,” he said, lips smushed against Cas’ sturdy shoulder, Cas’ fingers carding through his hair, petting softly.

And Cas, amazing, stubborn, grumpy, compassionate, and awkward Cas, pressed a kiss to his forehead and promised once more, “You’ll never have to be alone again, Dean.”

A weight had lifted from Dean’s shoulders, and he was finally able to breathe again.

At the same time, Cas had convinced him that, given Cas’ disaster of a family reunion (ha), things can’t possibly go any worse, so they should try visiting Sam in Palo Alto so Dean finally gets the chance to reconnect with his brother. It’s not a bad idea at all; it’s just that Dean hasn’t seen Sam since he stormed out to Stanford and he’s _terrified_.

Still, as he sees Cas accept a similarly bone-crushing hug from his sister, Dean misses Sam the way he would miss one of his limbs. And if things go wrong, he at least has Cas this time. Cas, who promised him that he would stay by his side. Cas, who told Dean that he had irrevocably fallen in love with him. Cas, whose kisses promise that there’s more to life than just saving people and hunting things.

Dean’s never been much of an optimist, but this time, he can’t help but feel that things are going to be okay.

He climbs in the car to take in his usual place behind the wheel, throwing one last look at the gates. They’re going to be taken down soon.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas’ voice snaps him out of his thoughts as he sits next to him. The first thing he does is fasten his seat belt, like the dork he is. His hair is a mess, he hasn’t shaved in days, his red t-shirt is wrinkled and there’s a dark stain on his leather jacket, right on his shoulder. It looks like it could be blood.

Dean loves him so much it hurts sometimes.

“Hey, yourself,” Dean smiles, looking every inch the idiot in love that he is. “Ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

Cas frowns. “There aren’t any popsicle stands here.”

Dean rolls his eyes, still smiling. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Oh. That. Yes, Dean, I’ve been ready for hours, but my sister insisted on packing us as many snacks as she could.”

“Nice!”

“And,” Cas takes his phone out of his pocket since he finally found it among Michael's hoard of stolen possessions. “There’s signs of a haunting near Sunnyvale. Want to stop there before we see your brother?”

The sun is setting, the orange sky making Cas’ eyes look darker, and he looks like a changed man. He’s lighter, somehow. Softer. More alive. More beautiful than ever.

Dean feels that lightness soar within his own chest, the fluttering in his stomach getting more intense every time he looks at Cas

“Sure, Cas.” Dean reaches for him, pulling him closer with a grip on the back of his neck before starting the car. His hand rests on Cas’ nape and he buries his fingers in Cas’ lush and impossible hair, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss, mouths lingering once it ends. Breathing together.

“We can make as many detours as you want, buddy. We’ve got a lifetime ahead.”

Cas’ answering smile is almost blinding.

Beneath Cas’ chest, beneath his flesh and ribs, right in the powerful beating of his heart, Dean’s finally found a home.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](https://twitter.com/foldingcranes).


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